


The Captain

by Elpin



Category: Downton Abbey, War Horse (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elpin/pseuds/Elpin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Captain Nicholls is wounded during his first battle, he is sent to Downton Abbey to recuperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have not read the book War Horse is based on, and so Nicholls' backstory is my fabrication. In this story, Nicholls obviously survives the battle. There are other slight changes in the time-lines to make the fandoms fit together better. 
> 
> Once again, this story was requested (ahem, demanded) by Rokkis.

Robert sighed deeply as he watched the wounded being carried or helped inside. Very few of them could manage it without assistance. He freely admitted he had been more than a little skeptical of Downton becoming a convalescence home, but seeing the officers struggling to walk or even just drink some water had made the war come alive, right in his home. It made him ashamed of his earlier misgivings. Had he not wanted to be in the war, and shunned the War Office when they had offered him an honorary position? Well, this was their chance to make a difference.

He was not the only one for whom the war had become real - his beloved daughters were now all bustling about and never sitting still. Even Mary was helping, and Edith had a knack for keeping track of things Robert had never noticed before.

True, he did not enjoy the noise and strangers so much, but it was an easy cross to bear.

Two soldiers came through the front door with a man on a stretcher between them. A nurse was ready, checking the tag and directing them to the appropriate bed. Robert only caught a glimpse of him: delicate blond curls and high cheek bones. A feminine beauty in a very masculine face. It was startling, but Robert's glance was brief and he didn't think too much on it. There were many other sights to see that day that would put the young officer far from his mind.

Because of the hustle and bustle of the day with so many new officers coming in, Robert had put off answering a few letters, and he could not go to sleep before he had done them. Cora went up to bed utterly exhausted, but Robert knew she had never slept so soundly as now.

He knew he should go to bed, but he was restless with the house so full of people. He had even sent the servants to bed; he could manage the undressing just this once. After he put away the letters to be sent first thing in the morning, he wandered into the rooms that he used to know every inch of. Now, the old furniture was put away and rows and rows of beds were crammed in. It was strange, seeing the simple hospital beds lined up in a room with such beautiful tapestry. He wondered if the officers enjoyed looking up at the exquisite moldings on the ceiling, and if they liked to hope they would dream of cherubs, or if they secretly despised it all. None of them had any radical leanings, he was sure, since they were all good, honourable officers who had given their health, if not their lives, for their country. Still, did some of them, seeing the luxury just out of reach, resent them? Or were they thankful for the generosity showed by opening the house to them? 

Such thoughts were of no use to him, he knew, but his gaze swept over the officers one last time. They were all sound asleep, and the new arrivals were too exhausted or wounded to even dream, though not all of them. 

A small whimper reached Robert, and he saw one officer shifting in his sleep. His bed was underneath the window and the moonlight shone in, illuminating the features of the man he had seen earlier that day. He was even more beautiful now, though some nightmare made his brow furrow. He winced and turned his head this way and that, his whimpers rising in volume.

Robert wondered if he should leave or wake the officer. The decision was made for him when he heard a soft "please...". He moved as silently as he could and sat down gently on the officer's bed, placing a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.

His eyes were moving restlessly under the closed lids and his breathing was very laboured.

'Wake up,' Robert urged. 'Come now, wake up, you're having a nightmare.'

Suddenly, the officer sat up, throwing his arms around Robert's frame and clinging on for dear life. The burst of movement shocked Robert frightfully, and he only just managed to stop himself from crying out. The officer buried his head in the crook of Robert's neck, sobbing quietly.

Instead of finding it distasteful, Robert sighed and returned the embrace as best he could. He had heard reports from the trenches that would make even a veteran like himself grow pale. This young man probably didn't even realise he was clinging to the Earl of Grantham like he would his mother.

'There, there, now,' Robert soothed in a whisper. 'It was just a dream. You're quite safe now. You're at Downton Abbey, a convalescence home.' Robert knew soldiers could be very confused after their arrival.

'Joey,' the young man whispered.

'I'm sorry,' Robert replied. 'I don't know who that is.' Perhaps it was a friend. If so, Robert promised himself he would find out what had happened to the lad.

The young man had stopped crying and gone very still. Slowly, he pulled away. He stared at Robert with wide eyes. They were a stunning blue, glittering with tears. Robert had never seen a man so beautiful. The expression of confusion, shock and soon embarrassment did not mar his features in the slightest. If anything they caused Robert considerable distress.

The young man was in the standard blue striped pyjamas every patient wore, but on him they made him look especially innocent. 

'Are you all right?' he asked when the man seemed frozen in place. 'What's your name?' This finally produced a reaction in the lad.

'Captain Nicholls,' he gasped. 'Your Lordship, please forgive me.' Clearly, the young officer must have been awake earlier in the day to recognise Robert in the dim light of the moon. Little did he know how he looked to Nicholls with the moonlight shining down on his concerned face. 

'Nothing to forgive,' Robert assured him, smiling kindly and touching the officer's shoulder to show his sincerity. Captain Nicholls looked down at the hand as if it was a ghost touching him.

'My Lord,' he whispered, nodding once that he understood. Robert sat back a bit.

'Lie down now, and go to sleep,' he urged gently. 'Do you need something? A glass of water perhaps?'

'No, My Lord,' Captain Nicholls said, quite distressed at the offer. Robert urged him back down with a firm hand.

'Easy there, soldier,' Robert said lightly. 'All three of my daughters are practically nurses - and one's even had the training - so I think I can manage to bring a wounded man a glass of water if he needs it.' Finally flat on his back again, Captain Nicholls smiled weakly, but shook his head.

'Thank you, My Lord, but no, I'm fine.'

'Then go back to sleep.' He did not need telling thrice, and Robert watched as Nicholls' eyes drifted shut. He found himself saddened to be left alone without the penetrating gaze. Finally going to bed, he felt very odd: he was calm and glad that he had helped the lad, but his condition - and his beauty - left him disturbed in a way he did not recognise.

XXX

The next day he made an unconscious choice to walk through the dormitory – how strange to refer to it as such without a second thought - where Captain Nicholls' bed was. It was a pleasant surprise to see him sitting up in bed and eating a sandwich. The nurse was hovering over him and he smiled up at her, thanking her for her attention. Officers and young women never mixed well, but Robert could hardly fault the girl for doing her job. Besides, with a smile such as that, the only way to keep the nurses away from the lad was to lock him in the attic.

Amused by his own thoughts, he greeted the other officers absentmindedly as he made his way to Nicholls' bed. The nurse, sensing his presence, curtsied quickly and went about her business. Captain Nicholls' eyes went almost as wide as last night, a small blush creeping up his neck. Robert couldn't help but smile at the young man's pretty embarrassment.

'Lord Grantham,' Nicholls greeted, straightening his spine in an attempt to appear professional. Robert was pleased to note he seemed like a proper, decent gentleman. 'Please, forgive me for last night.' Robert held up a hand before the Captain had finished his sentence.

'As I said last night, there's no need to apologise,' he reassured the young man. 'You've been wounded for King and country.'

'I'm afraid that will become an overused excuse all too soon,' Nicholls sighed. 'But thank you.' Robert returned the nod given to him, studying the man carefully. The comment clearly betrayed bitterness. Wounded soldiers tended to be depressed when suffering from more permanent afflictions. Nicholls seemed perfectly healthy, if a little pale. But appearances, Robert had learned, were deceiving in times like these. His scrutiny was far from subtle, apparently, and Nicholls shifted uncomfortably.

'It's my legs,' he said, staring at them. 'My horse-...' he swallowed. Robert felt his heart constrict at the young man's obvious pain, which he did not attempt to hide in the slightest. 'Joey, he fell on me. I don't know what's happened to him now.'

'I'm sorry,' Robert said, sincerely. He was very fond of his own mount, and could only imagine the number of horses that had died for a cause they did not understand. Dumb beasts or no, they still gave their lives.

'The doctors are optimistic,' Nicholls said, giving a sniff and blinked away the tears before they could fully form. 'Major Clarkson is confident I will walk again, though my right leg might not regain its full strength. Whatever the outcome, I'm out of the war before I even started.' The bitterness returned, and it was understandable now: Nicholls believed his duty unfulfilled. 

'Some would call that lucky,' Robert remarked.

'I am not among them,' Nicholls said, his bitterness very sour. Robert couldn't help but be glad, however, that such a fine young officer would be spared. Perhaps it was a selfish thought, but there it was.

'No one doubts your bravery, if that's what’s got you worried,' he told him. 'I'll leave you to eat. Focus on your health and leave the war to the rest of them.' Nicholls thanked him again, and apologised, though for what Robert wasn't sure. He seemed almost too well mannered.

The rest of the day passed much as he was growing accustomed to, though the imagine of Nicholls' wide and sincere gaze lingered always on the outskirts of his mind.

He did not see him again until he passed the training room, as it was now referred to. The Captain was seated in a wheelchair at one end of the two railings that were used to train the wounded to walk. He was trying to lift himself up, and was sweating profusely, his skin red with strain. The nurse stood by, ready to assist should he need it, but he seemed determined to do it on his own. He wore his regimental trousers and shirt, the collar of which was stained with sweat.

Finally, he managed to drag himself up, standing wobbly on his feet and putting almost all of his weight on his arms rather than his legs.

'Very good,' the nurse said. 'But that's enough, the Doctor says it's too early.'

'I can manage a few steps,' Captain Nicholls insisted, trying and failing to shuffle forwards.

Robert's feet carried forwards, his steps alerting Nicholls, who almost faltered at the sight of him, and stopped his attempts at shuffling.

'Your Lordship,' he said, voice as strained as his muscles. 'Forgive me for not greeting you properly.' Robert smiled and shook his head. He noted, for some reason known only to his subconscious, that Nicholls was a tall fellow, though not quite as tall as himself, with perhaps only an inch separating them. 

'Understandable, but did I hear the nurse correctly? You shouldn't push yourself too hard.' Nicholls only nodded, too tired to speak, and Robert sensed he was about to fall. He rushed forward just as Nicholls' strength failed him, catching him round the waist, though the railing between them made it slightly awkward. Nicholls grabbed his shoulders much as he had the night before. Their faces ended up very close.

'Easy there,' Robert said, indicating he did not mind giving his assistance.

'Your Lordship,' Nicholls answered, voice sharp with pain, as Robert helped him back to the chair. He wasn't quite as thin as Robert had supposed, and felt quite muscular beneath his clothes. 'Thank you, again,' he breathed. Robert touched his shoulder.

'Think nothing of it,' he told him. 'But listen to Major Clarkson in the future.'

'Yes, My Lord.' Having confirmed the promise, Robert nodded once and left the lad. There was a tingling sensation on his person that lingered all day, but he could not explain it, only note that it had started after Nicholls had touched him.

XXX

Try as he might, he could forget the young officer. The world was clearly working against him as well, since he could not cross the house in any direction without catching a glimpse of him. He seemed well liked by the others, though his bitterness and sadness at being denied serving his country could be seen in the way his gaze sometimes drifted off. Robert had seen him writing several letters, sometimes with a deep frown, and one time with a shaking hand. He wanted to ask him how he was, but could not think of an excuse to favour the young officer above the others. He contented himself with greeting him like he would the others when he made his now customary round in the morning. Nicholls always gave him the sweetest smile, though perhaps he only had that one type. Robert's day was always improved by the sight of it.

On one sunny afternoon, Robert went for a walk to get away from the tension between Cora and Mrs Crawley. He suspected things were going to come to a head very soon, and preferred to be far away from the blast radius. 

The grounds were bright and lush with summer. Strange to think of the horrors that lay just beyond the chanal. Downton shone in the sun, its pale yellow colour seemingly made for just this sort of weather. Robert loved her in all seasons of course, but it was on days like these he truly delighted in showing her off. Right now, though, he was content to walk alone, and wandered off his regular round. Solitude would not be his today, it seemed, for when he found himself by the gazebo there stood a wheelchair containing Captain Nicholls. He was wearing his uniform, apart from the cap, and Robert couldn't help but think the sight a bit sad: the solider confined to the wheelchair. 

He was approaching the officer from behind, and so the lad did not notice him at first. His head was bowed, but came up now and then to look at Downton in the distance, and Robert realised he must be drawing. The urge to see said drawing became paramount in an instant.

'Have you wheeled yourself here all by yourself?' Robert asked in greeting as he rounded the chair. Nicholls' head snapped up, his smile slightly embarrassed.

'My arms are getting very strong, Your Lordship,' he said. 'I managed it quite easily.' There were several sheets of paper on his lap, and a single pencil in his hand. Robert could not see the drawing very well from the angle.

'Might I see?' he asked, indicating the drawing.

'Oh, it's nothing, a scribble,' Nicholls excused, but dutifully handed it over when Robert held out his hand. It was a beautiful rendering of Downton. She seemed like a lost castle in a fairy tale, with trees obscuring her slightly. Somehow, Nicholls had done more than simply sketched her dimensions exactly; he had captured her essence.

'This is very good,' Robert told him. 'You have a gift.'

'Thank you,' Nicholls said, his blush slight but clearly visible. He gazed up towards the subject of his drawing. 'I find Downton... incredible.' Robert turned slightly to catch a glimpse of her. Yes, incredible was the word. 'I haven't seen many great houses, but I did play often at Highgarden.'

'Really? Of course, Nicholls,' Robert suddenly realised. 'You are related to them?'

'Indeed, I am Lord Elsingham's nephew.' A queer expression passed over Nicholls' face, possibly due to some disturbing memory. 'But Highgarden did not have the same... personality.' Robert was not aware of any gloom that hung over Highgarden. The Earl of Elsingham was known to be a most sensible and kind man, and his family, but one could never be sure. He decided not to press the memory directly.

'And what sort of personality does Downton have?' he asked instead. The smile returned slightly, though Robert was saddened to see it was tempered by lingering memories.

'She is a home, first and foremost,' Nicholls explained. 'You can feel the warmth in her walls.' When Nicholls spoke in such a deep tone, with clear reverence, Robert found the sound incredibly pleasing. The lad had a lilt to his voice that made him sound older and wiser, in stark contrast to his beautiful and youthful face. His eyes alone seemed to connect the two extremes, with some sadness always hiding in their depths.

'There aren't many who would describe Downton thus,' Robert admitted. 'I thank you for it.' Nicholls was evidently pleased at having pleased the Lord of the Manor, and his smile bloomed fully, causing no little tingling in Robert's gut. He coughed to cover his reaction. 'I always found Highgarden a very serene place, though I probably haven't been there since before you were born.'

'Oh, I hope I am not that young, My Lord,' Nicholls smiled, and Robert was flattered that he had not hinted at the other possibility; that he was old enough to have visited often long before the young officer's birth. 'I have not been there for many years myself.' The darkness crept back into his face, but he shook it off. 'I believe it is a convalescence home now as well.'

'Really? I had not heard. Why did you not use that as an excuse to go there? I could make inquiries to have you relocated.' Even as he said the words, he vowed he could never do so: he could never send this young man away from himself willingly. The feeling was so certain and powerful that Robert simply could not examine it for fear something would show on his face. The gods were gentle that day, however, for Nicholls shook his head.

'Thank you, My Lord, but I would much rather stay here.' He bowed his head. 'I did not leave on the best of terms.'

'I will not press you for details,' Robert assured him, absolutely certain the matter was simply a misunderstanding. 'You are welcome at Downton for as long as you need.'

'Thank you, My Lord,' Nicholls said. As Robert handed him back the drawing, Nicholls' hand brushed his own. It was only the barest of touches, but Robert couldn't help but catalog the smooth skin and the large hands. Was nothing about the man less than beautiful?

'I must get inside for luncheon,' he told the lad. 'I'll send the nurse out to help you part of the way. You can't be wheeling yourself all the way back.'

'I'm sure I'll manage.'

'And I am sure Major Clarkson would have something to say about it?' Robert raised an eyebrow in mock threat, and Nicholls smiled and nodded.

'Yes, sir,' he said, and gave a very good salute for someone seated. Robert smiled and returned it, walking the direct route back to the house. He told the nurse to hurry; he did not want Nicholls to overtax himself.

XXX

'Lord Elsingham's nephew?' Cora repeated. 'Have we met him before?'

'No, but we are related to the Nicholls I'm sure,' Robert told her as he ate his lamb. It was very good. All food tasted sweeter in relation to its scarcity, and Robert would not feel guilty about enjoying it. His mother leaned forwards to address Cora.

'Lord Elsingham has more nephews and cousins than is healthy,' she informed them. 'I scarce say this Captain Nicholls is probably considered more of a distant relative.'

'Like Cousin Matthew was to us?' Robert asked, though he regretted it the moment he had. The Lady Dowager huffed.

'Not even,' she said. 'He does not have a chance to inherit. Lord Elsingham has two grown sons, both engaged, and who knows how many older nephews there are.'

'I'm surprised you don't know them all,' Cora muttered. The Dowager ignored her.

'His sons are in France, if I remember,’ Robert pointed out.

'Even the eldest, what was his name, Master William?' Cora asked.

'Indeed, the Nicholls have always thought very highly of their duty,' Robert answered with great admiration.

'Well, I am sure they are far from the fighting,' the Lady Dowager insisted. 'Lord Elsingham would not risk both his sons.'

'Perhaps we should invite Captain Nicholls to dine with us when he is recovered? Before he goes home,' Edith suggested.

'Don't be ridiculous,' the Lady Dowager huffed. 'We can't dine with every officer we have a connection to. We would have guests every evening from now till a year after the war's end.'

'I think Edith is quite taken with him, relation or not,' Mary said, only quietly enough that the rest of them could ignore it and not chide her for it. Mary and her exchanged a sour glance.

'This is what happens when we are invaded by officers,' the Dowager sighed as if it was a great tragedy.

'For once I agree with you,' Cora half-whispered. She looked to Edith. 'He's most likely not got a penny to his name.'

'He's a Captain,' Edith argued.

'And that's the only advantage of his relation to Lord Elsingham, I'd wager,' Cora said archly. Edith sagged a bit in her chair when it was clear her suggestion would not be heard.

'The relation isn't very distant though, is it?' Robert mused, thinking there might be a close enough connection. Finally, an excuse to spend some time with the lad and learn more. He was far too intrigued for his own good, but he needed the lad's diverting presence now and then, he reasoned with himself. 'I believe Lord Elsingham's aunt married my cousin, or something like that.'

'Forth or fifth, maybe,' the Dowager dismissed, but Robert was not so sure. He made a note to look into it at his earliest moment of leisure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to post what I have in chapters as I re-write little snippets here and there. Thank you to Aillil for the info about the book. I have about 11K in total right now, so when all that's posted it might take a bit longer for more to come. I know this is a really limited fandom, but I really love the characters and I've been meaning to write a Downton fic for so long I couldn't resist this.

Chapter 2.

James Nicholls, that was his name. Robert had always liked the name James. It always gave its owner a stronger character. Nicholls needed no help from his first name on that score, however. He was making very quick progress, according to Major Clarkson. Robert had not disguised his need to know: he had explained the relation vaguely enough that the Major took it as familial interest.

The railings had not seen a more determined officer, Robert was sure of it. Nicholls could now walk, or shuffle, the length of them and back. He seemed pushed by some goal he did not speak of, though the anger his face betrayed when he failed spoke of something bitter. These days, he could get from the bed to the wheelchair, and do all other necessary private business like dressing, which Robert suspected was a great relief. The lad was just finishing his training for the day, and was wheeling himself outside - though he needed assistance to cross the threshold. Robert followed him, blinking into the sun, though it was barely warm this early.

'Your Lordship, good morning,' Nicholls greeted him with a smile. He was wearing his full uniform, apart from his cap, and looked very healthy.

'Good morning, Captain,' Robert returned. He gestured to one of the tables that had been set out for the officers to enjoy. 'Might we talk?'

'Certainly,' Nicholls agreed, wheeling himself close to the table so that when Robert sat across from him, it was almost as if the wheelchair was a regular chair.

'I've been looking into the family history,' Robert began. 'And I as understand it we are connected, distantly true, but I thought you might like to know all the same.'

'Really? How?'

'It seems your uncle, Lord Elsingham and consequently your father, and I share the same great, great grandmother.' It had been quite a surprise to find, but a pleasant one.

'Well, I'm honoured to have such blood in my veins,' Nicholls smiled.

'Can I ask, your father is Lord Elsingham's oldest brother?'

'No, the youngest,' Nicholls corrected him. 'He and the middle brother, Sir Charles Nicholls, were twins.' A dark shadow settled over the young officer. Robert wanted to ask, but held himself in check. Nicholls took a bracing sigh before he made his confession. 'My father, being the youngest, had a bit of a rebellious nature in him. He ran off with my mother, the daughter of a miner. She was... the kitchen girl.' As Nicholls relayed the events that had produced him, he seemed both determined to not be ashamed, and all the more so for being stubborn enough to own it. 'He died suddenly of a bad cough when I was three, and Lady Elsingham took pity on me and paid for my schooling. After my mother died when I was twelve I lived with Lady Elsingham's sister, who had never married but seemed to enjoy my company.'

'A strange upbringing indeed,' Robert remarked. 'But you've turned out quite the gentleman.'

'Thank you for saying so, Your Lordship,' Nicholls said. His eyes had become fixed on a distant line of trees during his story. 'I have schooling and a commission, which is more than someone of my circumstance should ever hope for.' Robert could contain his curiosity no longer.

'You said you left Highgarden on bad terms, but he secured your position, did he not?' When Nicholls seemed primed to beg some excuse, Robert hastened to add: 'I don't mean for you to tell me what transpired, only that he must still hold you in some regard.'

'His Lordship is a very kind man, not unlike yourself.' Robert would never admit how much this sentiment warmed him. 'Despite my faults, he seems to care for me from a distance, though I have no direct contact with him.'

'I'm sure you are worthy of his regard, but I won't pry, as I said.'

'Thank you very much, My Lord.'

'I won't bore you any further,' Robert said, rising.

'You could never bore me, My Lord,' Nicholls said, gazing up at Robert with wide, sincere eyes. Robert felt hot about the collar suddenly and nodded with a smile before leaving quickly. Perhaps he should stop whatever this interest was. Why was he interested? The boy was on no consequence, exactly as Cora had suspected.

XXX

It was not until half a week later he had the excuse to interact with James again. This time, he might be pushing his luck, but he simply had not been able to let the opportunity go to waste.

Edith was delivering letters to the officers as she did every day, and Robert was just passing when he heard her ask, 'Where is Captain Nicholls?'

'Probably outside,' one of the officers answered. 'The wheels on his chair have seen more miles than His Lordship's car, I'd wager.' The comment was affectionate, Robert noted with relief.

'I'm going for my walk,' Robert remarked as he passed, which was entirely true – he was even dressed for it – 'Why don't I give it to him if I spot him?'

'You don't mind?' Edit asked, skeptical. 'The handwriting looks very hurried, it might be urgent.'

'Of course not. Despite what you may think, I am capable of delivering a letter.' He took it from her before she could protest, and went on his walk. It was a good day for it; the sun shone just enough to warm, but not enough to make one sweat. He was familiar enough with the Captain's routes, and so had no difficulty finding him.

The sight he did find was not expected. Robert immediately broke into a run when he spotted Nicholls on the ground by the bench underneath the tree Mary always liked to sit by. He was struggling to lift himself up. The wheelchair stood useless to one side.

'Are you all right?' Robert asked when he reached the lad. Nicholls had managed to seat himself on the ground, his arms braced on the seat of the bench.

'Your Lordship,' he said, out of breath. 'Forgive me, I was only trying to sit regularly, just for a moment. I manage the switch from the bed easily enough, but there seems to be a slight incline I did not take into account, and so I stumbled.'

'But you are unhurt?' Robert wanted to know. He knelt by him, unsure how to assist.

'Perfectly fine,' Nicholls assured him. He was gritting his teeth. Why had he wanted to sit on the bench? It obviously had to do with how determined he was to get back on his feet.

'Might I help you back into the chair?'

'Not quite yet, if I could beg your indulgence.' He hefted himself up, and managed to bend the left leg well enough underneath himself to get himself seated on the bench. He heaved a sigh when he was secure. 'If you will just let me catch my breath for a moment.'

'Take all the time you need,' Robert told him. Then he abruptly remembered his errand. 'Before I forget, I've brought a letter to you.' He produced the letter from his pocket and handed it to Nicholls, who took it with raised eyebrows.

'Thank you, My Lord, but you needn't have gone to so much trouble. The world really has changed due to the war, now you've been reduced to a postman,' Nicholls chuckled.

'I hardly think the delivery of one letter qualifies me to such a post,' Robert said. Nicholls was studying the letter, clearly wanting to open it. 'I was about to take my morning turn. I'll return when-'

'No, please,' Nicholls interrupted him, glancing up with a pleading look. 'I'm sure it's not important.' But it was, Robert could tell. He carefully seated himself next to the lad.

'Why don't you check,' he suggested. Nicholls did not hesitate, and ripped the letter open quickly, scanning its contents feverishly. Slowly, his face crumbled and he destroyed the letter in his fist.

'As I suspected,' he almost spat. 'Nothing of consequence.'

'But it has upset you nonetheless,' Robert commented, strudying the man. Nicholls' gaze was fixed on his hands in his lap.

'Forgive me, My Lord,' he said softly. 'I don't mean to burden you with my silly notions.'

'I'm sure it's not silly, now tell me.' Robert was gentle, but firm. He wanted to know and help, if he could.

'It's Joey,' Nicholls looked up into Robert's eyes. 'My horse.'

'Yes, I remember.' Nicholls smiled sadly at that.

'I've been trying to find out what happened to him, if he died, or was taken by the Germans, but no one seems to have a full account of the equipment salvaged from that day.'

'I see,' Robert said. 'You realise the chances of getting him back to you are very small.'

'It's not me he needs to get back to,' Nicholls explained. 'It's the boy I bought him from.' He looked away, in clear distress, wrining his hands. 'I know it's silly, but I promised him I would take care of Joey. Then I go and lose him in my first battle.' He huffed a laugh. 'What a soldier I am.'

'You are a brave one,' Robert told him. 'I know the battle you were wounded in. It was a massacre.'

'I don't remember much,' Nicholls admitted, head bowed. 'I was uneasy with the plan – hell, I was terrified - but I didn't voice my objections. I remember the charge, and the sight of the machine guns. I was sure it was the end.' He shook his head, dispelling the memory, but Robert caught the fear there. It was the same fear he had seen in many a soldier and his heart ached for the young man. 'Then Joey reared back and I fell. I remember feeling this almost comforting weight on my legs, and then I fainted I suppose. I woke up in the field hospital. No one knew where Joey was, and I wasn't given the opportunity to look for him among the horses that remained.'

'I think it very admirable that you're still trying to find him,' Robert told him.

'Thank you for saying so, My Lord. I'm sorry about my complaining. Here I am at a beautiful estate, having conversations with Your Lordship, and all I can talk of is a place every man says is hell on earth.'

'You are preoccupied with your duty,' Robert dismissed the apology. 'I understand your bitterness at being robbed of it.'

'I-' Nicholls looked away, closing his eyes. 'I'm not bitter at that,' he whispered. 'I know I should be. I should have lasted longer, I know. If I had charged faster, been braver-'

'There must always be a man who is first to fall,' Robert interrupted him, catching the man's attention immediately. A memory came upon him suddenly, and his mind saw the scene as clear as when he had experienced it. Nicholls seemed to sense he was remembering something, and remained silent. 'When I was last in war, there was a young boy from the village under my command. He didn't have any prospects in town, and he had always fancied himself a soldier. His mother begged me to look after him.'

He paused a moment to gather himself.

'I could pick him out of the front line easily, even though he looked exactly as all the others. Just as we engaged the enemy for the first time, my first command, I glanced at him and saw him fall. The first to do so that day, but far from the last. He did his duty just as much as the others.'

Nicholls remained silent, showing respect for the boy's memory.

'Be thankful you are alive,' Robert concluded. 'Besides, the war might still have use for you, if it's still going when you are recovered. I'm sure a man with good schooling is always of use at the War Office.'

'I was studying for my law degree,' Nicholls admitted. 'Though I had no real talent for it. I would much rather ride than study,' he chuckled disparagingly at himself, then turned serious. 'It is a good occupation, so I suppose unless the army can find a use for me, I will continue it.'

'A good plan,' Robert said.

'Might I prevail upon your kindness once again, Your Lordship?' Nicholls indicated the chair.

'Certainly, Captain,' Robert rose, then paused. 'How should I help?'

'I think, if you could lend me your arm and help me to stand, then hold the chair as I sit down so as to prevent it from rolling away, we might manage it quite easily.'

'All right.' Robert bent and allowed Nicholls to take hold of him as he preferred. The soldier took Robert's left arm and let Robert hold his left under the elbow. Slowly, they rose together, wobbling slightly, but Nicholls' legs supported him. Once balanced, Robert used his right hand to guide the chair close, and then Nicholls sat down very gently.

'Thank you, Lord Grantham,' he sighed.

'It's nothing,' Robert said. 'I suppose you will insist on wheeling yourself back?'

'If you would allow me, My Lord,' Nicholls smiled. He looked a bit tired, but Robert decided not to insist.

'Very well, I must get along, but I will tell the nurse to look out for you,' he warned. Nicholls thanked him once again and Robert left him relunctantly.

XXX

James' pencil lingered on Lord Grantham's jawline. The Earl of Grantham had such a strong, aristocratic face. It was hardly surprising, of course, but it was the eyes that James had noticed first. They held such kindness. Instead of making him seem less of a Lord, they made him all the more regal. It was all so very confusing: he made James feel at ease and hopelessly inferior at the same time. James Nicholls was nephew to Lord Elsingham – he shouldn't feel quite so inferior – but he had never been made aware of what that relation entailed until he was old enough not to expect anything more than was given.

Yet, Lord Grantham seemed to take pleasure in their relation.

James felt more at home at Downton than he ever had at Highgarden. Lady Edith was so sweet to him, and even Lady Mary helped the lads whenever she could, despite her aloufness. James wasn't sure if it came from breeding or arrogance. Lady Sybil certainly had none of it. She acted like she had been a nurse all her life.

Despite being very content with his situation, James couldn't help hating every moment, stuck in this infernal chair.

He had felt at home in the army, with Jamie and the lads. For the first time he had felt respected and well liked, and had formed connections with ease without dreading making some error due to the nature of his father's mistakes. The officers knew him only as a nephew to Lord Elsingham, and a good Captain. He had spent his days training, riding, which he always playfully referred to as his first, and only, love. Although he had dreaded actually going into battle, he had tried to accept that he would give his life for King and Country. But instead he was like this, unable to even ride. The doctor told him to be patient, but he felt trapped.

He heard Lord Grantham's soothing voice in his mind, and calmed himself. His Lordship was right, he should be grateful and focus on becoming useful once more, even if he was stuck with a cane for the rest of his life. He might still ride, though not as well. He would be happy here, and treasure every moment with His Lordship.

Glancing down at the drawing, James made a few last additions. A sharpening of the shadows here and there, and a detail he had forgotten in the uniform. He heard the soft treading of someone approaching across the grass and looked up.

'Your Lordship!' James' heart lept into his throat at being caught unawares with his drawings. The Lord had been in London all weekend. He was still in his travel attire, having probably decided to walk the last leg of the journey – that was no doubt why James had heard a car arrive a few moments ago.

'Captain Nicholls.'

His Lordship smiled in greeting as he walked briskly up the slight incline to James' now favourite bench. He had managed the transition easily this time, making sure to position the wheelchair so it did not roll backwards. Perhaps it was silly to insist upon sitting on the bench, but he could almost get around on just crutches now, at least when he was just moving about inside the house, and sitting normally helped his spirits.

Just as Lord Grantham made his final approach, a gust of wind blew from behind James. It threw a few of the drawings from his lap. He almost jumped up after them, but of course realised he couldn't, and had to watch helplessly as Lord Grantham lept after them.

'Please, leave them,' James begged. Why did he always do things to make Lord Grantham assist him? Luckily, they didn't blow far. His heart skipped a beat as Lord Grantham began looking them over. He looked down in his lap and paged through his papers. Yes, one of them was gone.

'Oh, my,' Lord Grantham murmured as he came to stand in front of James, eyes still on the last drawing he had picked up. 'You've captured me far better than I deserve. I look almost – dare I say it – regal.'

'Please forgive me for taking such liberties,' James said, trying desperately to stop his blush.

'Not at all,' Lord Grantham said. He was always waving away James' apologies. He must surely be growing tired of it. 'I'm flattered. I never imagined I looked quite so stern, however.'

'That is only my first attempt,' James heard himself say. Dear God in Heaven, why was he saying such things? His mouth babbled on. 'I only tried to capture your features. This one has more...personality in the eyes.' His hand was holding the newest drawing out for Lord Grantham to take. He must be mad, or else his body was being controlled by the devil. Taking it eagerly, Lord Grantham scutinised it with a pleased smile.

'This is very good,' he said. 'Again, I'm flattered.'

'I'm glad you think so,' James confessed.

'How can any man object to being drawn so handsomely?' Lord Grantham chuckled. 'You've taken a few artistic liberties, I think.'

'Not at all,' James protested, far too sharply than was decent. Lord Grantham arched an eyebrow at him, and James swallowed. Now would be a good time for him to regain the use of his mouth. Alas, it was not to be. 'If anything I have not done your visage justice. The kindness in your eyes can not be conveyed with a simple pencil or my craft, such as it is.'

'My dear fellow.' Lord Grantham looked quite touched, at least James hoped so. 'I think I've made you offended on my behalf. Be assured it isn't necessary.' He looked at the drawing again, then at James, with an unreadable look. 'May I keep it?'

'Of course, My Lord, it's yours.' The request brought emotions that should be unwanted, but James could not deny they were pleasant.

'You won't think I'm vain, I hope?'

'Not at all, I thank you for the compliment of being the first to own a Nicholls original.' Lord Grantham chuckled at this and rolled the drawing up carefully, handing the others back. They were just sketches of ithems to practice on.

'Are you all right, getting into the chair I mean?' Lord Grantham asked. Such consideration from him always made James want to blush, but he managed not to.

'Thank you, My Lord, but I've made much progress over the weekend. I can manage.' He decided to prove his point and pulled the chair up close. He easily pushed himself up and into the chair, though his papers became slightly crumpled. Lord Grantham was even considerate enough to look impressed.

'I'll walk with you back to the house,' he said.

'Don't let me hold you up, My Lord.'

'Not at all, I prefer to stroll leisurely.' They made their way back and James dared to ask how London had been, and if Lord Grantham brought back any news of the war that might not have reached them. Their conversation was very pleasant, and when Lord Grantham said goodbye James knew he would never forget to be thankful for the circumstances that brought him here, even if they also brought bitterness and sadness. He would focus on the good from now on, and regain his lost optimism.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently studying Henrik Ibsen's plays, and also reading a lot about idealism and modernism in all forms of art. As a result, I think my writing has been affected by some melodrama. The word has some negative connotations to us, but I like a dose of it occasionally. Just thought I'd give you all a heads up.

Robert needed an escape, and who better to provide it than Captain Nicholls? He was just coming out of the library when he passed Edith with her ubitquitous stack of books. He decided he might as well check to see if the Captain had gone out already.

'Have you seen Captain Nicholls?' he asked. 'I have some news that might be of interest to him.'

'He's got a visitor today,' Edith said. Robert couldn't tell if she was informed about Nicholls' affairs because she was that way with all the patients, or because she held him in special regard. Either way, Robert had been reminding himself to speak to Cora about it for some time. Deep down, he knew it was cruel of him – Captain Nicholls might turn out a fine, upstanding lawyer – but he had reasons beyond Edith's fortunes to keep them apart.

Edith was right, as always, and Nicholls was seated at one of the tables where the lads ate or played cards. His crutches were leaning against the back of the chair, the only indication that there was anything wrong with him. His smile lit up the room- Robert had thought only women possessed that particular talent. Across from him, leaning in conspiratorily to tell whatever story had Nicholls smiling like the cat that got the cream, was a Major. He had Nicholls' pale complexion and high cheekbones, but the Major had a more serious and aristocratic countenance, though his animated speech softened his features considerably. They were both undeniably beautiful in their own way, though Robert would hail Nicholls as the victor if anyone asked him to compare.

He hesitated at interrupting their camaraderie. They seemed very familiar with each other. When the Major reached across the table and touched Nicholls' shoulder for no reason Robert could guess, he decided now was not the time to divert himself with the Captain's presence. Unfortunately, he was spotted right at that moment, and to his immense and private pleasure Nicholls' eyes lit up even more at the sight of him.

'Lord Grantham,' he greeted and Robert had to move towards them. The Major rose immediately and saluted. Robert returned it, though he added:

'No need for such formalities here, Major, we like to keep everyone at ease at all times.'

'Yes of course, Your Lordship,' the Major answered.

'Lord Grantham, this is my commanding officer and dear friend, if I may be so bold, Major Stewart. Major, this is His Lordship, the Earl of Grantham.'

'A pleasure, My Lord,' the Major greeted sincerely. Robert shook his hand. He noticed Nicholls gazed up at Stewart with great admiration, and so Robert made it his duty to find out if the man was worthy of the Captain's friendship.

'Please, sit down, Major, I won't interrupt you.'

'Oh, but I have to tell you,' Nicholls interjected. 'They've found Joey. It's a miracle. It's- Oh, Jamie you tell the story, I'm still in shock!'

Whatever the story was, it had clearly shaken the lad, so Robert and Strewart both ignored his use of the first name. Having been offered a seat by the Major, Robert sat down and listened to the most extraordinary tale. The young boy Nicholls had bought the horse from had gone to France himself to find him, and succeeded!

'My God, that's incredible,' Robert said.

'Indeed,' the Major agreed. 'When I first heard the story, I thought it was a fairytale to bolster moral, but when I heard the name of the horse I decided to investigate. Once I discovered the facts, I had to come here in person to tell Captain Nicholls. The boy, Albert, was blinded by gas, but he seems to be one of the lucky few whose sight is returning.'

'I'm so glad,' Nicholls said. 'To think if he had gone all that way, only to find his Joey and not be able to ride him again!'

'It's a story for the papers,' Robert said and the others nodded their agreement. 'Perhaps then, Captain, you can finally rest easy and focus on your health? No more worrying, hmmm?' He arched an eyebrow at the Captain and the lad ducked his head.

'No more worrying, I'm entirely devoted to my recovery, I promise.'

'Good lad,' the Major said, clapping him on the shoulder again. The look shared between the two officers made Robert's heart and stomach do strange contractions. Was it- could he be jealous? Captain Nicholls was clearly an easy-going chap when he wasn't allowing himself to despair, but the natural way he behaved with the Major could never be shared with the Earl of Grantham. For the first time in his life, Robert was envying someone for their lower position in life. The thought did no little damage to his psyche and selfesteem.

'Are you all right, My Lord?' Of course it would be Nicholls who noticed his distress. He pinched out a smile.

'Perfectly all right.' He glanced about for some excuse.

'Your Lordship?' Thank God and the Virgin Mary for Carson!

'Yes, Carson?' Robert had to consciously restrain himself from leaping from the chair.

'A telephone call for you, My Lord.'

'Good, I'll be right there.' He rose, the Major following suit, and said his goodbyes. He spent the short walk to the telephone trying to put his world back on its right side.

Why did Captain Nicholls draw him in so? He had noticed the boy's beauty from the start, but he could name many male figures whose beauty was undeniable: it was the same as admiring a painting, or Michelangelo's David. The male form could be thought beautiful without the emotions afflicting him, so why was James different? Clearly, it was more than just outward looks. Inside there was so much more. His charm, his kindness and manners, his artistic talent that hinted at something noble in the way he could capture a person or place's essence on paper – all these things made Robert admire and respect him. Even his bitterness and despair, instead of making him seem petulant or melodramatic – which to most it probably did – only evoked sympathy.

Having catelogued Nicholls' traits and his feelings towards them, Robert realised the true extent of his obsession. If Nicholls had been a woman, Robert would have thought himself trapped in some outdated romance novel, without even the consolation of the clever prose of Austin. It was clear to him he needed to reign himself in, and stop this nonsense before his feelings developed in disturbing directions. He would from that moment only speak the most formal courtesies to Nicholls. He would not do his morning rounds to greet the officers. He would, in short, return to his life as if Nicholls had never entered it.

Firm in his decision, he could take the telephone call without the embarrassment of his emotional upheaval being evident in his voice.

Had Robert Crawley read more romance novels, of course, he would know that fate always intervened when a protagonist was in danger of rejecting their destiny.

XXX

James couldn't begin to guess what he had done wrong. Not because he hadn't done anything that might push His Lordship away, but because he had embarrassed himself so many times he didn't know where to start. After he had only just found his spirits returned by Jamie's visit, his melancholy was worse than ever.

It was only when Lord Grantham kept his distance, however, that James finally noticed Lady Edith's closeness.

She was very attentive to all the officers' needs of course. She kept a catalogue of all the books in the library in her head, remembered all their names and the people who most often visited them, and performed even the smallest errand when asked. James had asked her for some paper and a pencil with which to draw, and she had delivered it to him personally with extreme swiftness. She was always ready with smiles and compliments on their progress.

Her attentions to him had not, therefore, presented itself as extraordinary. With all distractions, both pleasurable and distressing (the latter concerning the whereabouts of Joey and the conditions of his legs) James began to notice something in her smiles when directed at him. A softness about the eyes that reminded him of her father in some way, though her kindness held the sweetness of a young Lady instead of the steadfastness of a Lord.

What to do with this knowledge? James had virtually no experience with the attention of ladies. His time with Lady Elsingham's sister had been rather isolated apart from his visits to Highgarden and the local farm boys he would sneak out and play with. His schooling had afforded him no time at all to socialize, and his short yet formative time in the army had been devoid of any female presence whatsoever.

In short, James thought himself woefully inadequate to meet the flirtations of a young woman. He of course could not see his own conduct as Edith saw it: easy-going yet courteous to a fault, he appeared to her a romantic ideal type.

She knew of course that Captain Nicholls was below her, but his smile was so charming, his constant 'thank you's so sincere, that what young lady wouldn't be charmed? When making her rounds the other officers were steadily becoming used to having a Lady bring their mail, but Nicholls never stopped thanking her in the same, slightly awed, manner.

Besides, as Mary always said, she had no prospects. A veteran soon-to-be lawyer might be just the thing for her. He was Lord Elsingham's nephew after all. Maybe together they could make something of him?

Edith knew herself well enough to recognise the duality in her: the middle child, caught between Mary's pragmasim and Sybil's romanticism, she never knew which way to look. A handsom but penniless lawyer, or an old and rich Knight of the Realm? Both had charm, both might make her happy, but which would make her most genuinely happy?

'A letter for you Captain Nicholls.' He looked up from the book he was reading.

'Thank you so much, Lady Edith,' he said, and smiled, and she knew she was quite doomed.

James took the letter gently, hoping it was from Albert, and placed his book on the bedside table. He had written to the boy explaining what had happened and how much he hoped Joey was now back in the right hands. Lady Edith seemed to pause a moment, her gaze directed at him, but unseeing.

'Lady Edith?' he asked, worried she was suffering from a headache.

'What?' she asked, distracted.

'Are you all right?'

'Oh, fine,' she dismissed, putting on a smile. 'I hope it's good news.' She didn't wait for a reply, and continued on her deliveries.

James looked at the letter and frowned. The script seemed too formal for a young boy like Albert. He turned it and found Lord Elsingham's seal.

Five years at least it had been since he had been turned out of Highgarden. Every moment of that day was imprinted on his mind forever. Lord Elsingham had said he would never forget either. He did forgive James, in his own way, but could never see him again.

What could His Lordship have to say to him now? The letter was rather long, and as he read it, the words blurred.

They were English, that much was certain, but James could not take their meaning literally. This was surely some trick, some sick joke.

Lady Edith was passing by him, having delivered all the letters, and stopped short.

'Captain Nicholls? What's the matter? You look as though you've seen a ghost.'

'I... I...'

Lady Edith came up to his bedside and hesitantly reached out towards the letter. He let it fall into her hand. Perhaps she could intepret it for him. Her eyes scanned the paper with the speed of one used to the eleborate script.

'Dear God,' she whispered. He gazed up at her, pleading for an explanation. Slowly, she turned her gaze to meet his. 'You are Lord Elsingham's heir.'

'No,' he said. 'No, I can't be. That's impossible.'

'His sons have both died in the war,' she explained. 'You are next in line.'

'No,' he shook his head. 'My father was the youngest. Sir Charles had at least one son.' He could hear his voice wavering and took a breath to compose himself.

'He says you were misinformed,' she stuttered at the scandalous revelation, her eyes flickering from him to the page. 'Your father was always considered the eldest, and Sir Charles even sighed a document to that effect.'

'Misinformed,' James gasped. Lied to, his brain supplied. Lied to and hidden away. The son of the kitchen maid, to be kept away from decent company except when the trueborns needed someone to play with.

'Lord Elsingham writes about how sorry he is, and that when his sons left him his conscience told him he had to put things right.' Suddenly, she trust the paper towards him. 'I shouldn't be reading this.'

'Please, I can't,' James said. Relunctantly, she went on.

'Sir Charles' son is challenging it, but it won't come to anything. You are older than him, and everyone knows your father was the first born.' James had never mourned the passing of his uncle – he had barely known the man – but now he wished more than ever that Sir Charles was alive, or better yet, his own father, so someone could explain it all. It all sounded like some dark Grimm fairytale. Was he the Cinderella? Locked away so no one would know he was the one for whom the shoe fit? A hysterical laughter bubbled out of him, but there were tears in his eyes. He had never felt the loss of his family deeper.

'I'm sorry,' Lady Edith said. He frowned at her.

'Sorry?'

'Well, you're upset,' she said uncertainly, 'and obviously, they should never have lied to you. It's horrible.'

'Right, yes, thank you,' he said dully. The hysteria was gone as soon as it as come, replaced by the emptiness. He would have perferred rage, but who could rage against a man who had just lost both his sons?

'If you will excuse me, My Lady,' he said, reaching over to grab his crutches.

'Where are you going?' she asked, backing away as he lurched to his feet. He briefly debated putting on his jacket, but in the end he valued getting away more.

'Out, somewhere. I need air.' He nodded as best he could with the crutches under his arms, and tried to storm off. It wasn't quite what his mood wanted, but it would have to do.

XXX

Robert had just finished a very long telephone call to one of the most boring men imaginable. Unfortunately, he was also a high-ranking Government official that meant Robert simply didn't have the energy to snub him. He wanted to go for a walk, but the autumn wasn't being very cooperative and the rain kept them all inside. The library, then.

As he came in from the hall, Edith rushed him, a single, open letter in her hand.

'It's Captain Nicholls,' she breathed.

'What's happened?' She shook her head in clear disbelief. In the end, she thrust the letter at him.

'This is addressed to the Captain,' he exclaimed when he read the first line.

'Yes, he asked me to read it. I think he's in shock. Please, read it and then go find him. He went outside.'

Quick as he could, Robert scanned the contents of the letter. The revelations inside were astounding.

'Which direction did he go off in?'

'He went round the house, but he can't have gone far.' Robert wasted no time, not even bothering with his coat. The rain wasn't too heavy, but with Nicholls' slow progress he was probably soaked already.

Robert went round the back to the servants' entrance, but there was no one there. Surely some one would have come and got him if they had spotted Nicholls limping about. He pressed on and then a thought struck him: the stables.

Mary was always the big rider in the family, but Robert still had a love of horses and could never sell his old mount, much less send her off to war. If Nicholls wanted to get out of the rain in his current state of mind, where else was he likely to go?

Mary's horse was a beautiful creature, gentle yet adventurous. She seemed to have taken a great liking to Nicholls immediately. He was leaning against her enclosure, stroking her side and whispering. One crutch was leaning against the wall, the other held awkwardly in his other hand. His shirt was stained with rain and his hair was soaked, but he didn't look so wet that Robert was immediately worried about his health.

'There you are.'

Nicholls glanced at him, eyes almost distrustful, as if Robert had come to chide him for his imputence. In response, Robert approached cautiously. He realised he was still holding the letter. 'I hope you'll forgive me,' he said. 'Lady Edith thought you might catch a cold in the rain and since she had already read it...' He handed the letter over and Nicholls took it, stuffing it his pocket.

'Thank you, you're always so kind to involve yourself in my...' he shook his head. 'Forgive me if I worried anyone.'

'It's fine. You're distressed.'

'That's no excuse!' he snapped, then turned his head away, hiding it in the mare's hair in shame at his outburst. Robert came to stand on the other side of the mare's head, stroking her while keeping an eye on the young officer.

'Why don't we try an experiment?' he asked.

'An experiment?' Nicholls blinked at him.

'Why don't you be James,' Robert said slowly, 'and I'll be Robert. We'll talk as friends.' Before he'd even finished, Nicholls shook his head.

'My Lord, I don't understand what this is in aid of.'

'Hear me out.' Nicholls bit his lip to keep from arguing. 'You will soon be the Earl of Elsingham.' Robert quickly put a hand up to stop whatever Nicholls was going to say. He relunctantly fell silent. 'The letter explains it in unequivocal terms. When Lord Elsingham passes, and with his age and health that is likely to be soon, you will be Lord Elsingham. And so, we shall be equals.' Nicholls swallowed several times, his eyes glancing every which way, daring himself to look Robert in the eye. When he finally did, he was decided.

'What would we talk about? As friends and equals?'

'Whatever you want,' Robert said. James fiddled a bit with some of the mare's hair. He must be tired at having stood so long, but Robert couldn't suggest they go inside.

'I want to be angry,' James confessed.

'At who?'

'At everyone! But I can't because Lord- my uncle,' he corrected, 'has just lost his sons. I remember playing with them, and liking it most of the time, when they weren't pulling pranks on me or hiding from me.' He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. 'Mostly, I want to ask them why.'

'With two healthy sons...' Robert began.

'Yes, I know, but- I'm divided, you see,' James explained. 'Part of me wants to scream "Look at what your deception has wraught!" Now they'll have to give me what is mine by right.' For a moment, James' eyes were entirely wild, but he turned off the emotion like an actor on a stage. 'But there's another part of me, who was raised to be ever-so-thankful for everything that was given me.' He turned his head heavenward in resignation. 'Everything from the food in my stomach to the clothes on my back were a great gift.' He looked at Robert with sad eyes. 'And now that kitchen maid's son – the grandson of a miner who died at fifhty from a weathered body – will be Earl of Elsingham,' he laughed. 'The Peerage of England will never survive the indignity.'

'I promise you it has survived far worse,' Robert said. 'And you forget, you are also your father's son.'

'I never knew him,' James said bitterly. 'All I ever heard about him was how silly and stupid he was to have run off with my mother. Why didn't Lord Elsingham just keep on with the charade?'

'According to the letter, he wanted to do the right thing.'

'But he turned me out,' James said, his distress rising at the dark memory. 'He said I should never set foot in Highgarden again.'

Robert paused, unsure of how to proceed. In the end, he knew they had to have it all come out.

'James, what happened?' he asked delicately. For a moment, the young man looked like he had been caught doing something illegal, but sobered quickly and assumed the same resigned posture.

'He caught me – it was a youthful folly, a tiny moment of lapsed judgement,' he slowly confessed. 'I kissed a servant.'

'Just a kiss?' Robert asked.

'It... Dear God, I can not say it.'

'I will take it to my grave,' Robert promised. 'We are friends, remember?'

'Yes,' James said, clining to the word like a man drowning. 'Yes, I hope so.'

'Then tell me all, and I will not judge.'

'That you can not promise,' James denied, 'but I'll tell you anyway... I kissed, or rather, I was kissed... by a footman. I was running about looking for my cousins. They were always very childish for their age and liked to hide from me and then when I'd find them somewhere they would always sit and drink tea or some such, and pretend they had been sitting there all day waiting for me. This time, I was coming down the main staircase and the footman was going up. I stopped him to ask if he knew where they might be, and he said he didn't, but then he stopped and said I had something on my face. I knew him fairly well, I knew he always stared at me, but I never encourgaged anything, I swear. He came very close to wipe away whatever it was and then- suddenly! - his lips were on mine. I like to think I was in shock the whole time, but I'm not so sure. Then Lord- my uncle, was at the bottom of the stairs calling my name. The footman rushed up, out of sight, and I had to go down. He said he never wanted to see me again. He couldn't have such a thing at Highgarden. I remember thinking he looked more sad than angry, and later he wrote to me saying he had forgiven me, in his own way, but that he simply couldn't have me near.'

The tale was finished. James took a deep breath and met Robert's eyes. The mare suddenly gave a thrust of her head and then turned away from them both. James smiled sadly at her.

'She's bored with me,' he said. 'What about you, Robert?' he said the name slowly, as if savouring it.

Robert reached out, sliding his hand across James' right cheek and gently cupping the back of his head, ignoring the wet hair. He pulled himself in more than he pulled James for fear he might fall. Their lips met.

It was madness, but Robert had one beautiful moment of complete indifference to the outside world. All he knew was James' soft lips returning his pressure with equal force, and James' right hand tugging at the front of his uniform to press them even closer together.

The world rushed in again, and Robert pushed him away.

'Dear God, forgive me,' he whispered, head bowed.

'No,' James said. When Robert looked at him he had a wild air about him. 'Unless you kiss me again, I will never forgive you.'

Well, with a declaration like that, how could Robert deny the lad? He surged forwards and resumed the kiss. James clawed at him, his mouth opening to allow Robert inside. He was the sweetest thing Robert had ever tasted. In all his life, Robert had never felt so lost and physically present at the same time. His mind wasn't thinking at all except to analyse every sensation, every move James made against him, and every smell. Fresh rain, autumn air and James' unique flavour. Intoxicating didn't even begin to describe it.

'Your Lordship?' The sound of William's call was enough to almost give him a heart attack. He stepped away just as William poked his head in the stables. 'My Lord, Major Clarkson was looking for you.'

'Yes, thank you, Sergent,' he said. He glanced at James, but the lad's eyes were averted. 'Captain.'

'My Lord.'

He left


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I wrote William in the last chapter instead of Thomas. I always get the names mixed up.
> 
> Mega awesome note: I have now over ONE MILLION words posted on FF. I don't know what to do to celebrate, so email, comment or pm me with oneshot ideas if you have any requests (any fandom I'm familiar with and any pairing). Maybe I'll pick yours! :D

Chapter 4.

The next morning, Robert tried to go about his day as he always did. At around ten o'clock he was in the library, behind the partition that separated the private area for the family and the rest. He could hear some boys playing ping-pong, but was now so used to it that it didn't disturb his reading of the newspaper.

'You look like you're on the run, James,' one of the officers commented and the sound of play stopped.

'Oh, no, no,' James answered and Robert's ears perked up. 'Just the leg, you know.'

'Right.' The officers seemed to bore of their game and Robert heard them leave, but he could not discern from sound alone if James had left with him.

Suddenly, the partition moved and James almost fell through. He ducked his head immediately, but then spotted Robert and froze awkwardly.

There he was, just as lovely as the day before, only now Robert knew the taste of his soft lips.

'What on-' Robert stopped when the he heard the door open and James put a finger to his mouth in a silent plea for quiet. They heard someone- a woman judging by the heels, enter, stop, then leave. When the door had closed, James breathed out.

'I am so sorry, My Lord,' he said.

It was such a strange sensation – remembering James' eager lips against his – that Robert very nearly threw his paper to the floor and- and what? He could do nothing, of course, and so focused on the matter at hand.

'My God, man, what's the matter? Sit down.' Robert indicated the chair next to him and James all but fell into it. A suspicion entered Robert's mind. 'You aren't by any chance hiding from someone?' The embarrassed blush that stole over James was far too attractive to be legal.

'I-' James stuttered.

'It wouldn't be Lady Edith?' By now Robert was grinning.

'She's very attentive to me,' James said, 'but I'm afraid of implying something-'

'You think her attitude has changed now that you're to be Lord Elsingham?'

'No, no, not at all,' James insisted. 'She's- well, perhaps she's a bit more...' He couldn't look the Lady's father in the eye. 'Aggressive.' When Robert laughed, James relaxed slightly and smiled.

'I'm sorry if she's making you uncomfortable,' Robert said.

'No, not really. In any case, I'll be leaving soon...' The smiles all vanished at this announcement.

'Your leg...'

'The Major says it makes no difference whether I stay here or not. I might be as recovered as I'll ever be. I hope I can still ride, eventually...' James shook his head, banishing the thought. 'Lord Elsingham has invited me to Highgarden to stay for as long as I want.'

'When do you leave?'

'I suppose I'll take the train on Monday.' Two days. Was it really to be over so soon? 'I'll miss Downton terribly...'

'You will always be welcome here,' Robert said, but they felt like empty words. He saw out of the corner of his eye that James reached for him, but then hesitated. Good, they could not risk it. They had already come far too close, though James didn't know that.

'I thought perhaps,' James said slowly, hands fidgeting. 'I have planned to meet some old friends in London first. Lord Elsingham even offered to pay for a stay at the Savoy. He's very generous.'

'You're his heir, it's only natural.'

'Yes... I'll be staying there two days at most...' Robert looked at him, suddenly catching his meaning. James' eyes were heavy with hope.

'You know I've been meaning to get down to London,' Robert began, and James smiled, but they were interrupted by the door on their side of the partition opening. Cora came in.

'Robert? Oh,' she stopped short at the sight of James, who tried rising swiftly. Robert took him by the elbow as he rose himself to steady him.

'My Lady,' James greeted.

'We were just discussing Highgarden,' Robert supplied.

'Yes,' James agreed with the disception. 'I was wondering how I might convince Lord Elsingham to install a telephone. Downton appears so modern in comparison.'

'Well, I'm sure you can modernise it,' Cora said, smiling. She sent Robet a look, and he could read it well: she was wondering why he was entertaining James in the private part of the library. She suspected, no doubt, that it was because Robert was going to push James towards either Edith or Mary, or maybe even Sybil. She should be right, of course. James was now to be an Earl, but Robert could not do it, or rather, he would not. It didn't matter if James might find happiness with one of his daughters- it would kill him.

James excused himself with a pain in his leg and retreated to the "right" side of the partition. Cora raised her eyebrow at Robert, but he went back to his paper without answering her suspicions. She wisely decided now was not the time to interrogate him.

XXX

James stoked the mare's beautiful hair. Horses had always calmed the storm in him. Lord Grantham wasn't a storm, though, he was a rock, one James would gladly cling to if allowed. Two days and they might meet for one night. It wasn't enough, but James would take the smallest of opportunities.

It was all rather exciting, actually. James knew he should be afraid, especially considering what had happened the last time he had allowed someone to kiss him. After facing down death in the form of a German machine gun, however, having a clandestine meeting with his – dare he say it? - possible lover was just the right sort of excitement he needed. It gave him the same thrill as a race or a great jump, like when he was little and would ride his mount, good old Heathcliff, over the brook. Like Heathcliff, Robert seemed to exude the same solidness combined with a hidden playfulness.

Where were his thoughts taking him? He sounded like an infatuated baffoon. Luckily for him, the horse neither understood nor judged him.

'I don't even know your name,' he mused. 'I'll miss you.'

'She'll miss the attention more, I think.' It was Lady Mary, in her riding clothes.

'Lady Mary,' James greeted, giving her a slight bow of the head, as much as he could without looking ridiculous with the crutch. He would get a proper cane when in London.

'How often do you come here?' Lady Mary asked, coming inside and greeting her mount.

'These last few days... I've lost count,' James laughed.

'Will you help me get her ready?'

'Yes, I'd be happy to.' James realised, of course, Mary had done this so they would be alone together for some length of time. Despite his leg, it felt good, and they worked quickly enough together. Mary asked him about Highgarden and if he was looking forward to getting home. They spoke briefly of their relation and Mary mentioned the lovely garden parties that Lady Elsingham had always held.

'I remember them,' James said, 'though I never attended one.' He tried not to let the bitterness show in his voice, and Mary rightly ignored it if she noticed it.

'Neither have I.' Although for an completely different reasons, was left unsaid. She led the horse out and James followed, holding her as Mary mounted.

'Have a good ride, Lady Mary.'

'I will. You must come back to Downton when your leg is better. We can ride out together.'

'I'd like that.' He watched her trott off, and jealousy gripped him hard. What he wouldn't give to be able to ride as freely as she did. To feel the same speed and agility Joey had. An ugly thought came to him: Mary was only now paying attention to him for his title. Just yesterday she had been utterly indifferent to him. Yet, he could not hate her for it.

He hobbled inside and avoided both Edith and Mary for the rest of the day.

XXX

The foyer of the Savoy Hotel was a picture of luxury. The polished, checkered floors made your head spin if you weren't careful, only interrupted by the high, white columns and comfortable seating areas. There were mirrors almost everywhere, making it all sparkle and seem never ending. Robert, though he thought some of it was a bit much, enjoyed the comforts the hotel provided. It saved him from opening the house in London. He actually had an excuse to be here, but the meeting wasn't today, even though he had told Cora it was, adding that he was obliged to stay for a dinner on Wednesday.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for lying to his wife, and he did occasionally feel all of it at once almost to the point of becoming sick, but faced with the heart-stopping sensations James produced, Robert would do anything to feel them again. With Cora, love had come slowly and comfortably, and had from then on never changed over the years. With James, it was all romance novel passion and it seemed to shift with every glance, from peaceful to dangerous in a second.

The suite was far too large for him for just a two day stay, but he decided to indulge. The main living room was all in light cream colours, with a bit over-the-top Louis XIV style side tables. The lighting was modern, and apparently there would soon be a telephone in every room. The suite already had one, of course.

There was a dining room off to the right, a balcony overlooking the Thames straight ahead, and the main bedroom to the left. The bed, draped in red with a beautifully carved headboard, was more than big enough for three people.

He changed to do down to dinner. James had left a note at the reception, asking him politely to dinner as a goodbuy and thanks for the time spent at Downton. It was all perfectly reasonable considering James was to be the next Earl of Elsingham.

The Savoy Grill was extravagant, with lacquered walls that shone reddish by the numerous enormous chandeliers. It was like a sea of countless white tables. Despite the beauty that surrounded him, Robert's gaze found James immediately, sitting in a somewhat secluded corner. He had not spotted his guest yet, and so Robert took the time to indulge his eyes as he approached. The young man was clearly nervous and excited; he was fiddling with the napkin and drinking champagne. He was also, for the first time in Robert's presence, out of uniform. Instead of the regimentals he wore the same "white tie" style as Robert was currently sporting. His stark-white bowtie looked ever-so-slightly crooked, and Robert knew James had not yet hired a valet. His black tailcoat and white waitcoat both looked slightly tight, which meant they were likely not new, James having put on muscle in his upper body. Despite these faults, only obvious to the trained eye of one who wore such clothes every evening, he looked every bit the future Lord Elsingham.

His eyes lit up with their predictable pleasure when Robert came near.

'Lord Grantham,' he greeted, attempting to rise.

'Please, stay seated, Captain Nicholls,' Robert returned and James gratefully sunk back into his chair as he shook Robert's hand. The staff were very attentive and Robert was seated with ease, water provided immediately.

'Not for long,' James said. 'The army's done with me, I'm afraid.' Robert was asked if he would like some champagne an he agreed wholeheartedly.

'I assume you're not planning to return to your law studies?' Robert asked as he took a small gulp. The bubbles tickled pleasantly as the taste exploded on his tongue.

'Lord Elsingham is adamently against the idea,' James admitted, 'but since I never had a talent for it, I don't have the strength to argue with him.'

'So, you're to go to Highgarden and be the Earl's heir.'

'Something like that.' James looked a little lost at the prospect, and Robert decided they should steer the conversation away from thoughts of the future. Tonight, only they existed. 'Did you have a nice trip?'

'It was as smooth as can be expected.' If you didn't include the way Robert's stomach had been in knots from the anticipation, lies and pleasure all mixed into one giant tumour in his gut. In the presence of James, however, he let such worries slip away.

They ordered their dinner and chatted about inane things. James was quite the debater, it turned out. He was very quick-witted and his thoughts often ran in odd, but delightful directions. The other guests were mostly old men and women of all ages, reminding them both painfully of where all the young men were. They could not let guilt colour the delicious tasting food, however, and so both avoided mentioning the war. Most likely they were both agreed on that subject.

When their conversation turned slowly towards politics, however, Robert was painfully reminded of their very different origins.

'You must sympathise a little,' James was insisting, referring to the upstarts in Russia.

'Sympathy for armed rebellion?'

'The world is changing,' James argued. 'Even in Britain, the old ways-'

'Ways you are now to be a part of,' Robert reminded him sharply.

'Yes,' James agreed, 'but had the Peerage of Britain been abolished tomorrow, I would not exactly miss it.'

'Really?' Robert asked, sitting back and scrutinising the young lad. James had the decency to blush a little at his boldness at least. 'You would see Downton turned over to the servants, I suppose?'

'Do not take me for a radical, My Lord,' James retorted. 'But the world will one day be based on the individual's work and not heritage. Maybe not in our life-times, but eventually.'

'Don't you have any respect for tradition?'

'Some traditions are good, others need to evolve,' James said simply.

'And who decides which are to go?'

'Exactly.' Robert was at a loss how he had proven James' point for him, but the lad explained quickly, growing more animated by every word. 'We must have true democracy. Please, you know I have every respect for you, Lord Grantham, but the fact remains that most people are not as lucky as your servants and tenants. If all the Lords and Rulers of the world were as kind and just as you, I doubt the Russians would have any cause to complain.'

What did one say to such an argument? That you weren't as kind and good as the lad thought, or perhaps that more Lords were kinder than people gave them credit for? Bad arguments, both. In the end, Robert smiled and shook his head, and James knew the argument was done, though neither had won.

'Perhaps you could teach me,' James said, still smiling.

'What?'

'How to be a good Lord.'

'My dear fellow, I have no doubt you will keep Highgarden in the best condition.'

'Thank you for saying so. I suppose Lord Elsingham will groom me well.' The shadow that Robert had managed to keep at bay came back. He leaned closer.

'You are worried he still hasn't forgiven you,' he said quietly. There weren't many dining, but enough that conversations could be overheard. The large room made all the other conversations slightly aplified, as if they were sitting in a cave, so you couldn't pick out just one, but Robert was sure one could if one really tried.

'How can he have?'

'He made you his heir.'

'Yes,' James sighed, 'but... what if he regrets it when he sees me?'

'He can't go back on it now.'

'That thought is even worse.'

'Don't think about that tonight,' Robert urged. 'How about we go upstairs and have a drink? The view from my room is lovely with the sun setting.' Although the light from the windows had almost faded completely, neither commented on this fact.

'I'd love to.' It was not until James rose that Robert noticed his new cane. It was a very well-made thing, with a curved handle, and made entirely of polished wood. James walked with a heavy limp, but in times like these it only made people respect him more, and Robert could see how the servants performed their duties extra swiftly for their young, handsom guest.

It was amazing how casual they both appeared as they left the restaurant. Robert was very glad he had decided to leave Bates at home. He could manage two days, and the room had around the clock service a short telephone call away. They both subconsciously walked as far away from each other as the corridor would allow, for fear something might spark between them. No one gave them a second glance.

Robert opened the door and gestured for James to go inside. The lad looked about with interest before going to the balcony, even though the view had never really been part of the plan. Robert let him have his look while he prepared two tumblers of whisky. Now that the moment was so close, he knew he would need a little fortification. What exactly would happen between them? There were so many competing images and ideas swirling in his mind, Robert blushed. He had emptied half the glass by the time James returned.

'Thank you,' he said as he took the glass. They both stood in silence in the middle of the room, sipping occasionally. Abruptly, James put the glass down on a side table, glancing nervously towards the left door.

'Should we sit? Or-' Robert didn't let him finish. He placed his own glass down and swooped in as he had before. James met the kiss with great vigor, dropping his cane and throwing his arms around Robert's shoulders. His body was so young and firm, strong from all the training, yet still smaller than Robert's. He held the lad against him, kissing him feverishly.

'Should we...?' James gasped between kisses. He had to physically hold Robert's jaw to stop him for long enough to speak. 'The bedroom?'

'Right, yes,' Robert stuttered, suddenly nervous now the moment was here. James leaned in and kissed him softly. He didn't know what would happen tonight, but he knew with in his soul he wanted to be as close to this man as he possibly could, so with that in mind, he did something a bit reckless: he bent slightly and snaked an arm under James' knees, lifting him up. James was startled into laughter and Robert steered them true into the bedroom.

'You're insane,' James giggled, clinging to him.

'It's all your fault,' Robert accused him, laying him on the bed as gently as his back mucles would allow. James didn't let him pull away, and instead urged him on top. Kissing horizontaly was even better, and he barely even noticed when James started undressing him.

He allowed James to remove his bowtie and his coat before he decided James' clothes really needed to come off right this second. Robert realised he had never untied another man's tie before, and the act was very intimate indeed. James stilled as Robert slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the skin Robert had glimpse the very first night when he had held James in his arms. Wondering what it would taste like, Robert ducked his head and kissed the skin just below the collar bone. James arched slightly, and so Robert kissed him again slighty lower, and lower again, and again as he continued to unbutton. The stomach muscles were very well formed, strikingly so actually, and Robert marvelled how soft the skin was. He pulled the shirt tails from the trousers, exposing the stomach completely. What a sight. Such beauty was surely not his to enjoy?

He placed both his palms on the stomach and smoothed upwards towards the shoulders, pushing the clothes out of the way. James sat up in response and together they got the garments off altogether. James pulled him in for another kiss, trying to get Robert's own shirt off, but he was feeling a bit selfconscious suddenly. He had never considered himself a very handsom fellow, though Cora always said he made up for it in character. Still, he was a lot older than the James, and the lad's beauty was almost ridiculous. For the first time, Robert's mind asked why on earth James was here at all, with him.

Selfconsciousness and doubt did not come naturally to Lord Grantham, and so the thought was enough to trip him up. James noticed at once and ceased their kissing.

'Something the matter?' he asked. His lips were deliciously red and wet.

'No, nothing,' Robert lied, willing the foreign thoughts away. Perhaps he should suggest they turn off the lights. Damn electricity for being so convenient!

'Come on, what is it?'

'Nothing. You're very beautiful.' James smiled at the compliment and kissed Robert playfully on the nose.

'And you're very handsome,' he had the gall to say. Despite Robert's misgivings, the sentiment eased his nerves considerably.

'You think so?'

'I do... although,' James licked his lips, 'I do somewhat miss the uniform.'

'Oh, really?' Robert chuckled.

'It was very impressive,' James confirmed. He glanced over to the door suddenly. 'Would you mind if we turned off the lights?' Was he reading Robert's mind, and offering it in sympathy, or did James have insecurities as well? The latter couldn't possibly be true.

'Of course.' Robert rose and went to the light switch. James shifted in the bed to pull down the duvet. He sat on the edge and removed the rest of his clothes in the dark, though Robert could still see his outline from moon light. He quickly got under the covers, leaving the clothes on the floor.

Robert finished undressing, tossing his clothes on the chair that stood by the dressing table. He went to the other side and slipped in. The sheets were silken and cold, but James was warm. Luckily, the lad was on his left side, so his right leg didn't give them much trouble. They kissed languinly, and James seemed to thoroughly enjoy playing with Robert's chest hair for some reason.

'This is perfect,' James whispered. Robert kissed his cheek and earlobe.

'Indeed,' he whispered back, his hand stroking down James' side, all the way to his hip. With great daring, he let his hand slip backwards slightly and smoothed over a heavenly firm and soft buttock. James gasped and scooted closer.

'Mmmm, God, yes, touch me everywhere,' he begged.

'With pleasure,' Robert wholeheartedly consented.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed a few things in the Downton Abbey fandom, such as the order of events and certain outcomes. Obviously, if you haven't seen the show this might be spoilery.
> 
> I haven't been to Amalfi and I've taken a few artistic liberties with the descriptions. It was a popular tourist place for the upper classes in the 1920s, and I picture the movie "A Good Woman" (based on the fabulous play "Lady Windemere's Fan" by Wilde) when writing about it.
> 
> For the new character Niel Garfield, I've been inspired by Matt Bomer from the show "White Collar" because his face is so ridiculously perfect, just in case you wanted someone to imagine.

Chapter five.

Robert Crawley had been extremely disappointed when he had been denied his tour of France. The war was not for him; he would not get to do his duty. As the years passed, and the war in Europe crept ever closer, his feelings of resentment shifted to relief, then horror. When Matthew came home, broken with no chance of recovery, Robert had almost left. He had found himself writing letters to James, but then burning them before he sighed them.

Miraculously, Matthew recovered, and although Mary's happiness seemed ever further out of reach, at least the future seemed a bit more settled.

Then, finally, Britain breathed out a great sigh, and the war ended. Robert rejoiced with the others. It had been two and a half years since that one night at the Savoy. Eighteen months of dreaming of it practically every night. Now, with society about to go back to normal, perhaps they would see each other again. Surely, they could find some excuse?

Of course, Robert had time to doubt as well. James could be living a good, decent life now and have no desire to see Robert again. Or, he could be living the most indecent life Robert's imagination could conjure up, and be utterly content with it.

Word of Lord Elsingham's death reached them a week later. Robert was about to offer his condolences and travel up north for the funeral, but then the sickness invaded Downton.

Miss Swire had been the first to be taken. They had thought her the only one, but then the unthinkable happened:

Cora.

Robert's feelings towards his wife had always been coloured by the guilt that stemmed from his motives in pursuing her. Now, her memory would forever be tainted by his infidelity.

As a man of honour, Robert's only course of action was to spend the rest of his life in repentance; by trying with every action and thought to earn her forgiveness in the next life.

He could never see James again.

His daughters were of course devastated by the loss of their mother, especially in such a manner. Sybil came home from Ireland for the funeral, and wisely convinced Branson to stay away. Robert's temper could not have born the presence of his daughter's folly.

On top of death and peace in one confusing blow, Mary was resolved to never marry Matthew. Robert did not know if anything had transpired between them, but he suspected Mary simply could not bear the thought of being Mistress of Downton.

Due to the loss of their mother, and their now more similar circumstances, the two unmarried sisters seemed finally to have grown close.

When the sickness had passed and life at Downton, and the rest of the country, was slowly returning to normal, the sisters decided it was time they took a season abroad. After many months in mourning all were agreed that their health required some immediate action lest they bury themselves with the dead. Many destinations were considered, chief among them America. The idea of a holiday was not unappealing to Robert, but he had many scruples about sailing across the pond. Luckily, the ladies were convinced by an acquaintance to spend the summer in Italy. They would go to Amalfi, a popular place for many in their circle. The girls would not spend the holiday alone.

It was with both guilt and relief that they finally left Downton. Robert prayed the gloom would be gone from it by the time they returned.

XXX

Amalfi was breathtaking in the best way. The town hugged the mountains, lining the crescent bay with bright buildings. In every nook and cranny between the beautiful architecture, sand and walls of rock, there was lush greenery. Flowers coloured every windowsill, tall straight trees flanked the roads into the town, and vines climbed white walls.

They were staying at the Hotel St. Catalina, a grand new hotel that seemed to have been carved into the rock a little way above the town. They would have had a villa, but their plans had been made late and no suitable place had been found. Amalfi was even more popular than anticipated. From the hotel it was only a ten minute walk down the narrow, cobblestone road to the centre of town, but to get up again people generally had the hotel send a car for them.

The girls and the Dowager shared the largest suite, and Robert decided to be economical and had only a very small one bedroom suite for himself. The view from the balcony was spectacular: he could see across the crescent bay at the villas up on the opposite slope, the azure sea washing up on the white beach, and the the long walkway milling with tourists.

Perhaps here, he might quiet his guilty conscience somewhat, if only for a few moments.

In the middle of town was the great cathedral, and although Robert was far from religious, he visited the sacred place with more respect than the average tourist. The Virgin Mary looked down at him with pity, but he was not offended; he bore it gladly. The sunlit days, however, lifted his spirits despite himself.

Even the simple act of being in regular clothes again instead of mourning black comforted him. He knew how Cora would have hated him to stay too long in black – she had always said it did nothing to flatter him like it did other gentlemen. The ladies had new dresses for the season, and were determined to get some life back into themselves. They became the most enthusiastic of tourists.

In the evenings they dined with several acquaintances, often at one of the villas. There were soon large parties to attend as more of their circle came down. Amalfi was the hot spot this season it seemed. Even Robert found himself smiling for the first time since the sickness, but only due to his girls' happiness at being the most favoured of dance partners one evening. Perhaps with Matthew so far away, Mary could find someone suitable. If luck would finally be on their side, perhaps Edith would too.

Both the girls and his mother were off having lunch with someone, but he had been spared. As he wandered the narrow streets, slowly finding his way down to the sea, he couldn't help but breathe a little easier.

He walked so long, with the sea on one side, that the house walls soon changed into rock, and the foliage started growing heavy, leaning into the streets, creating a tunneling effect. He found a little path down to a small beach between large boulders.

He didn't know it yet, but later he would describe it as the path of fate.

When he reached the sand, he removed his Panama hat and turned his face into the sun for a moment. It quickly became too hot for his English skin, however, and he put it back on and walked the short distance to the water. At the edge of the short beach he found one boulder that was small enough to sit on comfortably, and he did so. He briefly debated taking off his jacket – or worse, his ascot – but he rejected the idea.

It was the splashing of water from his right that first alerted him that he wasn't alone. From around the boulder that ended the beach at the other end – only twenty or so feet from Robert – a young man waded.

James.

No, the world was not so cruel, was she?

But there was no mistake. The young man – the young Lord – was James Nichols.

He had his trousers rolled up to his knees, with his jacket over an arm, shoes and hat in one hand, and his cane in the other. The suit was slightly lighter than Robert's own off-white linen three-piece. He wore a blue tie, and Robert did not doubt for a second it would make those eyes sparkle.

His hair was the same perfect blond, straightened back with a slight curving due to his almost untamable natural curls.

It was his smile that was worst of all, as always.

He didn't see Robert due to his focus on where he was stepping. He still had a limp, but Robert saw how he managed it more easily.

Robert rose, his movement catching James' attention, which made him immediately wish he had delayed the inevitable.

James' eyes widened in shock at first, and then, a pleased smile spread all the way to a grin.

'Dear God,' he exclaimed, hobbling out of the water towards Robert with alarming speed. 'Lord Grantham, is that really you?'

'I believe it is,' Robert murmured. James was right in front of him now, all bright and joyful at this serendipity. 'Lord Elsingham.' He gave a slight bow of the head. 'It's a pleasure to see you,' he lied. 'My condolence comes very late, but we've had-'

'Don't trouble yourself,' James interrupted, his smile gone as soon as it had come. 'It is I who should offer my condolences. I tried writing, even calling once, but I couldn't figure our how to say it when not in person, and I thought it best to keep away from the funeral.'

'All perfectly understandable,' Robert assured him stiffly. He should get away. The walk up to the road seemed incredibly long suddenly. How had James managed? Had he considered the walk back up at all before going on his little adventure? He glanced up at the wall of rock and foliage, the tiny path zig-zagging between them.

'You've come down with your daughters, then?' James asked politely.

'Yes, yes, and my mother,' Robert explained. He glanced at James' cane and noticed it was not the same as before. Instead of the curved handle it was right angled so the user could more comfortably rest his weight on it. The handle itself was beautifully crafted metal, though Robert couldn't see the design clearly. The rest was of beechwood.

'I hope their spirits have been lifted by the sea air,' James commented.

'They have been, considerably I think.' There was a screech of gulls somewhere off in the distance. Robert gazed out to the horizon and thought he spotted them, but they were too far away to really see. There were a few ships to spy, however.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. He should make some excuse and go up again. Then James sighed.

'Robert.'

'I can't,' Robert snapped, louder than intended. He closed his eyes briefly.

'Of course, I understand,' James said softly. 'If you'll excuse me, I'll just put myself to rights.' He walked over to the boulder Robert had been sitting on a moment ago. He put down his jacket, shoes and hat next to him, and leaned the cane against the rock. Bending down, he managed the trouser leg on good side without problems, but his bad leg didn't want to bend. This wasn't too much of a problem until it came to his shoes. He tied the good one, then paused to take a breath before bending down to do the other. He was very limber, and clearly had some practice. Still, Robert found himself striding towards him.

'Allow me,' he said, kneeling with one knee in the sand.

'I can manage,' James snapped. Robert bore it silently and took the task away from him without further comment. It was done in a moment. Robert looked up and saw all of James close up. The same wide eyes, the same hope and fear, the perfect lips he had dreamed of kissing so often.

Before he could say anything, do anything, James had leaned down and kissed him.

It was all as before. Their time apart had not changed his feelings in the slightest. James did not press too hard, but kissed Robert as you would a sacred object.

When he pulled away, he whispered:

'I have missed you so much my very bones ache.'

'My dear lad,' Robert sighed, trying to regain his composure. He forced himself to rise and dust off the sand on his trouser leg. 'You've become a poet since last we met.'

'Our last meeting is all I ever think about,' James confessed, staring up at him. 'I could be sipping tea with my aunt, or out riding, or having dinner with an old army friend, and suddenly you'll pop into my head and I can taste you, smell you, as if you were pressed up against me.'

'Stop, please,' Robert pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut. He heard James push himself to his feet.

'I will, of course,' the young lad said. 'If that is what you truly want, we will meet as passing acquaintances.'

'Dear God,' Robert breathed, the thought of that abhorrent to him. Good evening, Lord Elsingham. Good evening, Lord Grantham. How's the family? Good, good. You ought to come down for the hunting soon. I'll be sure to do that. Oh, is that Lady Meredith? Why yes it is. I owe her a call, excuse me. Of course, My Lord. Have a good evening, My Lord.

Robert reached out blindly and found James' shoulder, pulling him in. Their lips met clumsily, but the pleasure was not diminished. James opened his mouth to him. He had drunk coffee recently.

'Stop, stop,' Robert babbled. He cleared his throat and took a step back. James turned slightly and busied himself with getting his jacket back on. 'We can't do this here.' James nodded as he placed the hat on his head a straw trilby hat that matched his suit nicely. 'But I do want to see you.' This finally put a small smile back on the lovely face.

'I want to be careful,' James said. 'I've rented a villa. You could visit?'

'Perhaps. We must be certain no one suspects anything... at all.'

'We should find occasion to meet by chance at some gathering here, pretend to renew and deeper our friendship in public.'

'Yes, very good.' Robert couldn't help but be impressed. Clearly, the lad was a quick study in the game of society. James smiled at his look.

'I am capable of being devious.'

'I wouldn't go quite that far, yet.'

'So... this evening perhaps?'

'We're dining at the hotel,' Robert remembered, disappointed.

'I'm sure I could find some friend to dine there with and cross your path.'

'Excellent.'

'Should one of us wait here a while?'

'Why don't we walk together to the road at least,' Robert suggested, worried about James' leg.

'I can manage fine. I've been down here before,' James assured him. 'You go, I'll take my time.'

'If you're certain...' James leaned in and kissed Robert sweetly, and he almost couldn't wait to be alone with him. 'See you tonight?'

'Tonight,' James promised. Robert left, feeling jittery and too excited for any negative emotions.

XXX

'Are you feeling all right, Robert?' the Dowager asked, full of genuine concern. Robert dragged his eyes away from the doors to the hotel restaurant.

'What?'

'You look like you're expecting someone,' she explained.

'No, no one in particular. I thought I saw an old friend, but I was mistaken.' He directed his attention to the salad in front of him. Mary and Edith were being quite distracted themselves, with most of their attention kept by the table of young men in the corner of the restaurant. Not for any real interest in them as persons of note, Robert suspected, but because one or two of them had that Italian beauty that so many ladies made fools of themselves over.

The restaurant seemed to match the clientele in that regard, apart from the floural patterns on the wall Robert found a bit much. The whole place seem to be half outdoors with the great wall of glass to the sea far below them.

They had taken a day off from visiting for a family dinner. It was nice to hear how well Mary and Edith got along with both old and new acquaintances here.

He heard the soft tread on the carpet, which should have been impossible considering the size of the room, but he new the rhythm of that walk intimately. He looked up and there he was.

His white tie ensemble was perfectly tailored this time, especially the waistcoat. The cane gave him a wise air, but the almost silly grin canceled it out somewhat.

'Lord Grantham,' James greeted warmly as he neared their table. He was a better actor than Robert could ever have guessed.

'Lord Elsingham,' he returned, rising and shaking the lad's free hand. 'I didn't know you had come down.'

'I arrived on Monday,' James explained. He looked to the ladies and bowed to each in turn as he greeted them. 'Lady Dowager, Lady Mary and Lady Edith, a pleasure to see you all again.'

'Lord Elsingham,' the girls greeted.

'Please allow me to extend my very late condolences,' he said.

'Thank you,' Lady Mary replied. 'And ours to you, of course.' James nodded his thanks.

'I'll let you get back to dinner, but I hope we will meet again often this summer.'

'Why don't you join us?' Mary suggested. Robert blinked. He wasn't sure what he thought about that. If James said yes he might encourage the girl, but if he said no they would have to wait a day at least before running into each other again.

'Oh, I couldn't possibly intrude,' James objected.

'You wouldn't be,' Edith interjected. 'We've only just started. Please, do sit.'

'Well,' James gave Robert the smallest of glances, asking for permission, and Robert gave the barest of twitches back to signal it was up to him. 'All right, since I hadn't any other plans.'

'Excellent,' Edith said with pleasure. The young lad was seated quickly between Robert and Mary.

'How is the leg?' Edith asked. She obviously felt she could, having been relatively well informed about the Captain's injury.

'Oh, as well as can be hoped for, I suppose,' James said with a somewhat sad smile. 'I can ride, which is something.'

Mary quickly took over the conversation, and Robert again questioned the wisdom of eating together. James was always so polite, but he did take pains not to flirt. Mary tried to trick him into it a few times. The problem with this was of course that Edith might suspect James was ignoring Mary in favour of her.

After dinner, Robert managed to get James alone in the smoking lounge. They sat for a moment, each in a solid leather armchair across from each other. Robert enjoyed his cigar and cognac, while James stuck to the latter. Occasionally, their eyes would meet and they'd share a moment of silent pleasure. It created the tingling of anticipation, though Robert had no idea how they would manage to meet in secret.

'I want to invite you to my villa,' James said softly. The lounge was fairly full – Robert even knew several of the patrons – so James' voice did not travel far. 'And tell the sevants to take the day off.'

'Perhaps I'll sneak round and throw pebbles at your balcony,' Robert murmured, feeling a bit reckless. James laughed, turning his head away to hide his slight blush. His gaze was directed towards the double doors to the lobby, and suddenly they lit up with delighted surprise. He scrambled for his cane to rise. Alarmed, Robert stood as well, taking James by the free arm and helping him the last bit.

'James, please, don't get up!' A voice admonished. Robert looked to the owner and found himself tongue tied, almost stupified.

'Niel, so good to see you, old chap!' James exclaimed, taking the man's hand and shaking it enthusiastically. Old chap? That was probably the least appropriate nickname for someone who looked like that. Young chap wouldn't do him justice either.

The man was as tall as Robert, lean and very well-built, and dressed impeccably in white-tie. He was in his early thirties, and handsome, perhaps even as handsome as James himself, in his own unique way. He had a very strong jaw-line, a straight Roman nose, short, wavy brown hair and light blue eyes that were a bit large for his face – though the imperfection was an assert in Robert's opinion. His face was a Roman bust made real, and his smile held too much charm for Robert to trust him.

'James, it warms my heart to see you again so soon,' Niel was saying, still holding James' hand for some reason.

'The feeling is mutual,' James said, grinning. He finally seemed to notice Robert. 'Oh, a thousand apologies, Lord Grantham. This is my very good friend Niel Garfield. We were in the cavalry together. Mr. Garfield, this is Lord Grantham.'

'Lord Grantham, a pleasure,' Garfield said, and Robert had to shake the man's hand. 'Ja- Lord Elsingham,' he corrected with an apologetic grin at James, who waved it off immediately, 'has told me so much about you.'

'Really? I'm afraid I can't say the same.'

'Well, we haven't seen each other in years, Lord Grantham,' James made the excuse, 'but if we had, I would put you in the same room together at once,' James said, nodding decisively. Garfiel raised an eyebrow.

'Well, Lord Grantham, what do you say to that? Should we let Lord Elsingham play with us like dolls?'

'Niel, that's not what I meant, and you know it!'

'I tease, as always,' Garfield said, putting a hand on James' shoulder. 'You take everyone at their word all the time, which is such a bad habit since people rarely mean what they say. He's far too trusting, isn't he, Lord Grantham?'

'On that, we agree.'

'You're impossible, as always,' James rebuked with fondness. 'I didn't know you were coming down this season.'

'Oh, I got a last minute invitation by the Dowager Winther. She says she won't play whist without me,' Garfield chuckled. 'Speaking of which, I must press on, or I'll be told off for being late. James, we will see each other every day while here, I hope?' He patted James' shoulder one last time and held out the hand to Robert, who took it. 'Lord Grantham, I hope we will be in a room together again soon.'

'Indeed,' he said, watching as the man practically glided through the room to the salon. He sat down and stared hard at James, who had sat down himself, though his gaze was still after Garfield.

'He seemed... festive,' Robert remarked, catching James' attention again, who chuckled and smiled at some secret memory.

'He is. He always keeps my spirits up, though he is a terrible tease in every aspect of life.'

'Every aspect?' Robert had the gall to ask, but he simply had to; his jealousy demanded it. James looked at him oddly for a moment, before the question clicked in his mind. He blushed and looked down.

'No, of course not, not that,' he whispered, glancing after Garfield once more. 'I haven't- You've been the only-' he stuttered.

'I'm sorry,' Robert said, leaning forward and placing his hand on top of James' for a brief moment. 'I didn't mean to ask. It's not my business anyway.'

'Well, I consider you my only business in that regard,' James said archly. Robert felt a smile tugging, but tried to keep it in check.

'He is very handsome, and young.'

'He's also got particular tastes,' James said. He had calmed himself and leaned back in his chair. 'For old widows.'

'Ah,' Robert understood. 'Dowager Winther needs him for more than whist, I take it.'

'I actually think he needs her more. He falls in love with them, Robert, I'm half sure of it. He's the only confidence man who tricks himself.'

'Poor fellow.' Robert tried not to take delight in these fact, but the relief was so great he couldn't help himself.

'Robert,' James said seriously, glancing about to make sure they were not overheard. 'If I ever did fall for someone, which I cannot imagine will ever happen, I hope you will thrust me enough to tell you at once. Between us there must be no secrets.'

'Agreed,' Robert said. 'Between us and the world, however...' James nodded, a little sadly, and took a sip of his drink.


	6. Chapter 6

There comes a time in every young lady's life when she goes from “waiting for just the right mix of class, power and beauty” to “I'll take any old codger as long as I can still be seen in good company.” For some, this change happens before her introduction, for others it might creep upon them like a thief in the night, taking away youth and freedom in one fell swoop. 

For Edith it was never a moment to dread, it was a fact of life. She wasn't hopeless of course, not like certain cousins she had met with more ruffles in their dresses than sense in their heads. She was just overshadowed by Mary's presence and dowry. 

Then James came and it had all seemed like a dream, with his smiles and polite conversation. Edith now understood the appeal of elopement, and why Sybil was off to Ireland. The dream both solidified and crashed when Lord Elsingham's letter had arrived. She was in love with an Earl! Then, like the monster awakened in the cave, Mary's eyes had lit up. 

They had put that little spat behind them during the Sickness. Who remembered youthful fancies after such events? At Amalfi they were as old girlfriends, chatting and gossiping and being the talk of the town, always together.

So of course he would be there, with that ridiculous youthful face of his unchanged, as if he was the only flower to spring up on a battlefield. 

There was one change that was unmistakeable, though he went to great lengths to hide it. Edith only saw it because she was left out of the conversation Mary forced upon him. He would glance at Father every other sentence, searching for guidance, permission, approval - Edith knew not what. Father would meet his gaze every time, almost as if they had rehearsed it. A slight nod, a sympathetic wrinkle at the eyes, or a teasing curl of the lip: they all conveyed a friendship far deeper than should have been possible. When had Father had the opportunity? It was a mystery Edith decided would be her summer project to unravel. 

XXX 

'Good Evening,' Lord Grantham said in his broken Italian. 'I wonder if you might tell me if this is the villa of Lord Elsingham?' The old servant, a gardener by the look of him, nodded and pointed vaguely in the direction of the house, though he never met Lord Grantham's eye or indicated he had understood a thing. He moved on without another word and Grantham raised an eyebrow. Well, it was an easy thing to find out now he had walked all the way up here. 

The villa had a magnificent view of the bay. It lay tucked away above the city on the other end of the crescent from the hotel. The foliage seemed to eat it up, but the white walls stood proud and tall. Lord Grantham entered from the narrow cobbled street through an archway into a small courtyard. Above him flower boxes adored every window of the three stories. The archway was above the villa proper, so the entire front of the house could have an unobstructed view of the sea. Grantham found the front door easily enough and used the great lion knocker – which looked imported. 

A butler opened the door – an Englishman thank heaven – and bowed at once. 

'Lord Grantham,' he greeted. 'Lord Elsingham is expecting you.' He opened the door wide. 

'Ah, excellent,' Grantham said, glad to be in the right place. He was a bit winded from his long walk up the steep street. The butler led the way. The house was a work of art, both architecturally speaking and for the fact that it was filled with art. There were statues and busts in every corner, and one in the middle of the front hall, which was a round room with a blue mosaic floor. There were paintings of every view in the city, the church, the bay, the house itself, all done in a quaint but pretty style. 

Past the front hall, they entered a light and breezy room with great windows to show off the view, which was as expected: spectacular. The room had a definitive Oriental feel, with several Chinese-inspired paintings and vases. The furniture was dark wood, expertly crafted, with soft pillows on them. There were potted plants everywhere, so tie the room to the nature beyond, so it all seemed half indoors, half outside. 

James was lying back in a sofa, laughing softly at the other occupant of the room. Neil Garfield sat in a chair at the end of the sofa so they could face each other. He had on a linen suit with a pink tie. His smile was the whitest Robert had ever seen. 

'Lord Grantham, My Lord,' the butler announced. James arched slightly to look over his shoulder at once, then sat up with a smile. 

'Lord Grantham! I've been waiting for you.' 

'My apologies, I did not mean to keep you waiting,' Robert said. 

'Please, come in and sit,' James said. 'Archie, more tea.' The butler left silently. Since Garfield had the chair closest to James, Robert had to settle for the one across from them, on the other side of the round table that held their tea. 

'You've had Mr. Garfield to keep you company at least,' Robert mentioned. 

'I'm a poor substitute, I'm sure,' Garfield laughed easily and James joined in, waving his comment away with a soft rebuke. 'But I'll leave you two to it, I've an appointment in town.' He rose, prompting Robert to do so, but when James tried to do the same, Neil quickly put a familiar hand on his shoulder. 'Please, I'll see you tomorrow, yes?' 

'Of course, I can't wait.' 

'Excellent. Lord Grantham.' 

'Mr. Garfield.' The gentleman took his hat and left quickly. Robert took the vacated chair, determined not to be ashamed of it, but by James' smile, he had no reason. 

'I came as soon as I could get away,' he explained. 

'I'm glad you managed at all, with the ball tonight.' 

'Hmm,' Robert agreed, his eyes drinking in every inch of the lad. James was clad in the same suit he had worn on the beach, but with a blue ascot this time, of a lighter hue. Robert wondered who had instructed James to wear so much blue, and how he could properly thank them. James noticed his scrutiny and blushed slightly, his own eyes starting to roam over Robert. The butler interrupted them and there were “thank you”s and “that will be all” to be said, and then James had the bright idea to send poor old Archie down to town to get some peaches or something sweet for them. He should take the car of course – he was in fact an excellent driver - then, finally, they were alone. 

'It's just you and old Archie?' Robert asked. 

'Yes, he's was my valet actually, but then old Stevens died last spring and he's sort of taken it all on, which is very nice of him. There's a bunch of local servants and a cook here, but they only come inside when needed. It's actually not a big house. The smallest in the neighbourhood, I think.' 

'It's beautiful,' Robert remarked. 

'I think that's why I like it,' James confessed. 'Lord Elsingham told me before he died he liked it so because he could almost be entirely alone here. Those are all his, you know, the paintings of the view and city.' 

'Really? Extraordinary.' Their speech was so easy, it was hard to imagine ever having to pretend there was any distance between them. 'You and the late Lord Elsingham got along well?' 

'Yes, we became very close,' James said quietly, taking his cup and staring into the tea. 'He seemed to crave my attention. I think he missed his sons terribly. I did my best to keep his spirits up, but in the end I'm sure that's why he went away. The Lady Dowager is still at Highgarden. She's an incredibly strong woman. They weren't very close, but good friends at least. I wanted her to come with me, but she insists I travel without an escort and spend my youth wisely, or unwisely, as I see fit.' 

'I can't imagine the loss of a child,' Robert said, unable to consider having to send any of his daughters off to war. It had been bad enough to send Matthew. He thought about young Miss Swire and the sickness. So many young ones taken, yet in their house only Cora. 

'Let us not speak of death any more,' James said softly. 'We're here in beautiful Italy, and together.' 

'Yes, you're right,' Robert agreed, pulling himself together and banishing dark thoughts. He smiled at the young lad, who put his teacup down and grinned mischievously. Taking his cane, he rose and held out his free hand. 

'Come, I want to show you the rest of the house.' Despite the innocent nature of the suggestion, Robert's heart rate still jumped. He eagerly followed his host upstairs to the master bedroom. It was done in blues with hints of Turkish decoration. The bed was large and draped in silks. Against the opposite wall there stood a dressing table and chair in matching chestnut. There was a small balcony with a seating area. Robert imagined himself on late summer evenings having a cigar outside, and a warm, laughing voice calling him in.

The most striking thing was the wall above the headboard – a mural of a sleeping man. Robert stopped to gaze at it. He was lying on a white beach with lush foliage behind him and the sea by his feet. Had he been shipwrecked, or placed there by the gods? His expression told of some pleasant dream he was having. He was almost completely nude apart from a torn piece of cloth. 

'One of Lord Elsingham's favourite artists painted it for him,' James whispered. 'It's suppose to be the beach here, before the city came to be.' 

'He's beautiful,' Robert said. 

'Yes, he is,' James agreed, and there was something in his voice that made Robert look at him, raising an eyebrow at the lad's knowing expression. 'You'll find no Venuses in this house, only Adonis.' He leaned in. 

'Ah,' Robert understood just as James' lips met his. That explained a great deal, a very great deal indeed. 

The kiss was very slow - a warm welcome - and Robert could not imagine a better greeting. When James tugged at his collar, Robert stopped him. 

'Are you sure-' 

'Archie will take at least forty minutes, if he can find peaches to his liking. He's very particular,' James said, a wicked smile curling. Robert kissed it away at once, taking James around the waist and pulling him flush against him. The cane fell with a soft thud against the carpet and James grabbed Robert's head, tilting it to his preferred angle. They began to taste each other in earnest, and Robert shifted them so James' back was to the bed. Down they soon went, unwrapping each other. Making love on silk was as close to dreaming as one could get while awake. James' skin was just as soft to Robert's touch, and some of it was now sun-kissed. The lad had been bathing. The thought of watching James step out of the water like the Adonis on the wall was so erotic Robert moaned rather obscenely. 

'You've been swimming?' he asked between kisses. 

'Mmm,' James confirmed. 'Every morning. I love it. It's easier on the leg and keeps my arms strong.' 

'I imagine you swimming under the stars, naked,' Robert confessed, making James laugh breathlessly. Robert sucked on a spot on his neck. 

'Ah,' James sighed. 'Or maybe I'm shipwrecked and you find me, naked on your beach.' 

'Yes, you've washed up on my shores,' Robert whispered against the skin. He touched James intimately. 

'Yes, yes,' James moaned, his head thrown back, his eyes closed to see the vision. 'Ah, and in your land, all that washes up on your shores is yours.' 

'Exactly.' Robert worked James slowly, pulling whimpers and gasps out like music. 'You're taken to my castle high on the mountain, and into my chambers.' 

'Where I'll beg for salva- Ah- ation.' 

'And I will grant it, for I am a merciful king, as long as you will do something for me.' James rolled them suddenly so he was above. He was sweaty and red-faced, but gorgeous all the same, and he had a half-mad glint in his eyes. He sat up, pushing against Robert's chest, who held his breath. Slowly, James slid backwards so he could rub against Robert in all the right ways. He then took them in hand together. The sight should have been preserved, and Robert lay back to admire it. The lad was too much, too much beauty, too much youth, too- too much. 

'I'll do anything for you,' James gasped. Their seed spilled together, their moans in off-key harmony that no one would appreciate save them. They were sweaty and sticky and utterly content. James lay down, curling into his lover despite their too-warm skin. 

'I like that,' James said wistfully. 'I wish you were the king of some distant land, where no one could tell you what's proper and what's not.' 

'I don't think it's wise to dwell too much on dreams,' Robert sighed. 'This room will be enough.' 

'It'll have to do,' James breathed. They lay like that, stretching out the seconds before they had to be presentable again. 

XXX 

The chatter of lighthearted voices and the clinking of glasses were in tune with the sparkling champagne and the glittering beauty all around them. Robert, despite his occasional anti-social spats, truly enjoyed these events. The people were all in their best, and the location and fine weather made everything more at ease, more heartfelt. The warm evening air hugged the house, a fine property on a cliff overlooking the bay at the very tip of the crescent. It was owned by a Lord and Lady Van de Meere. 

Mary and Edith both looked spectacular, and his mother too, it had to be said. She and Lady Van de Meere were like two peas in a pod, and were clearly plotting something. It probably involved match-making of some sort, but Robert was too happy to care. 

He watched his daughters dance, though his attention was drawn to the doors whenever someone entered. At last, James appeared, beautiful in white-tie, his trusty cane by his side. It took a long time for him to get into the ballroom proper, with so many people greeting him with smiles and handshakes. James kissed quite a few hands, causing an equivalent number of blushes. He wasn't even aware of the effect he had. Or if he did, he was absolutely humble about. 

When their gazes met across the room, their secret tied them together. James smiled a wicked little smirk at him before he had to make small talk with the host. After a few rounds of politeness, James made his way towards Robert. It was at that exact moment that Edith appeared by her father's side. 

'Lord Grantham,' James greeted, nodding once at him and giving a slightly more formal bow to Edith, 'Lady Edith, you look beautiful this evening.' 

'Thank you, Lord Elsingham,' Edith said, flattered. Robert wished he hadn't said that, but he knew James couldn't find it in himself to deny a Lady a compliment she deserved. 

They made conversation about the festivities and the people around them. When the next dance was about to start up, a young man appeared at Edith's shoulder – it was Neil Garfield. 

'Lord Elsingham, Lord Grantham,' he greeted with his white smile. 

'Mr. Garfield,' James greeted enthusiastically. 'Please, allow me to introduce Lady Edith Crawley.' Garfield was the perfect gentleman – if a little flirtatious – when he took her hand and kissed it. 

'Lady Edith,' he greeted. His eyes seemed sincere, and Edith was clearly startled by his beauty and charm. 'I freely confess I was hoping for an introduction. May I be so bold as to ask you for the next dance?' 

'Oh, yes, I'd love to.' Garfield held out his arm and she took it, glancing over her shoulder at James, who smiled brightly. 

'You two take a turn for me,' he said as they swayed off to the music. Robert didn't quite know what to feel. James saw whatever was on his mind. 

'Don't worry about Neil,' he said. 'He's just being a good friend.' 

'A good friend?' Robert arched an eyebrow. James shifted his gaze slightly, showing a bit of uncertainty. 'You don't mean he...' Robert glanced at the dancing pair. 'He knows.' 

'He... suspects, and I haven't bothered to correct him. He is completely trustworthy, I promise.' 

'Really?' Robert almost hissed. 'A man who seduces old dowagers? I'd sooner trust him with my mother. She, at least, knows how to keep a secret.' 

'It's not like that, I did not tell him, precisely. He simply knows my nature and does not care.' 

'Your nature-!' Robert scoffed. He tried to take a breath so no one would notice they were fighting – and they were fighting, weren't they?

'He tried to seduce me,' James blurted, blushing slightly. 'Nothing was said explicitly, but he understands why I rejected him and it was not for my preference for the ladies.' 

'And he-?' 

'Respected my position, and as for his own nature, he loves regardless of appearances.' Robert observed Garfield once more, this time in a more favourable light. He was laughing at something Edith had said as they waltz quite expertly. More than one young lady in the room was jealous. 

'He also, I think, knows how I must stand around here uselessly all night,' James said. 

'So he asked Edith to dance...?' 

'To spare her waiting in vain, I suspect.' James smiled sadly at the pair, leaning more heavily on his cane. 'Or perhaps he's fallen in love with her utterly. With Neil you never can tell.' 

'A strange man indeed.' James nodded at this, his smile growing warm now that their disagreement was over, and Robert returned it fondly. 

Out on the spinning dance floor, people were flushed with the excitement of youth and society. Edith was among them and had never felt more alive as Mr. Garfield moved them about. His smile never wavered, even when he was speaking. It was almost a bit disconcerting. 

'How long have you known Lord Elsingham?' she inquired. 

'Since the war,' he replied, and only his eyes betrayed dark memories. 'We trained together, and of course I was at the battle where he fell.' 

'But you weren't wounded?' 

'No, I was one of the lucky ones, as they say. Went the whole war through without so much as a scratch. Well-' His right hand came off Edith's waist to indicate a spot just below his collar bone. 'Almost.' She could not see beneath his white shirt, but obviously there was some wound there. 

'You've kept in touch despite your separation?' 

'Oh, yes, can't help it with good ol' Jim,' Garfield chuckled. 'His friendship is addicting.' 

'That's a strange way to talk about friendship.' She glanced over at Lord Elsingham and her father. They were smiling in a quiet, pleased manner at each other, as if they were discussing some delightful secret. 

'I can guarantee you I'm not the only one who thinks that,' Garfield said. Edith looked at him, but he had followed her gaze and was observing the pair, his smile wistful. 

'I wasn't aware they had grown so close,' Edith murmured, half to herself. 

'That's the thing with Jim,' Garfield said, dragging his attention back to his dance partner. 'You don't even realise how close you are to the sun until you've been burned.' Edith frowned at the metaphor, unsure what exactly the man was getting at. 

'And have you.... been burned?' she asked tentatively. 

'No,' he said. 'I've learned my lesson with his kind before, so I know how to guard myself.' 

'And fa- Lord Grantham-?' Edith did not like this conversation at all, but she felt powerless to stop it. 

'Ah, yes, I was a bit worried at first, when James mentioned Lord Grantham, but now I've seen them together, I rather suspect the table's been turned.' At Edith's confused stare he grinned wickedly and finished: 'Lord Grantham is Jim's very own sun, so who's to say who'll be burned first?' 

The song ended and they thanked each other for the dance. Garfield guided her back to the waiting gentlemen. 

'You two were wonderful,' Lord Elsingham complimented them. 

'Indeed,' Robert agreed. Edith thanked them both and hurried off. Strange conversations always made her light-headed. Robert frowned at her leaving, but she had not been impolite so he suspected she was just tired from all the dancing. Garfield soon made an excuse as well and was gone. 

The evening lasted well into the night, and people finally started going home when the champagne had flowed far enough to cause Lady Winther to sway into a Chinese vase. Luckily, it was saved by Mr. Garfield, who then became hero of the hour and got to escort Lady Winther home. 

In the car home Edith was giving him quite a few queer looks, but he was not about to provoke a conversation he did not wish to have, and so he ignored them all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sort of epilogue, because if I don't end it now, it will never end. Sorry to those who expected another sexy scene. It seemed my muse just wanted fluffy cliches.

‘Lord Grantham, Sir,’ the old butler announced. Robert strode into the room, a smile ready to greet his host, only to falter at the sight of Neil Garfield.   
  
‘My Lord,’ Garfield said as he rose. He had on a light grey three-piece suit with a pink tie. His hair was expertly tousled and his smile was a white as ever. Robert tried not to grimace.   
  
‘Mr. Garfield,’ Robert shook the man’s hand. ‘Might I ask where Lord Elsingham is?’   
  
‘He’s a bit late I’m afraid,’ Neil said, leading the way over to the seating area. Garfield sat on the sofa and Robert took the chair farthest away from him, crossing his legs stiffly. ‘Jim’s been held up by his old great-aunt Murial. So glad I never bothered having a great-aunt Murial. I’m only ever late when I don’t want to go. Anyway, we were suppose to have tea together, but I guess you’ll have to do. ’   
  
‘I see,’ Robert replied, trying not to purse his lips at the man’s weak attempt at charm. He also wanted to flinch at the butchering of James’ name. Lord Elsingham was not, nor would he ever be, a Jim again.   
  
‘And this gives us the opportunity to get to know each other,’ Garfield said enthusiastically. Robert had wanted to take James out for a little excursion into the countryside, away from the prying eyes of society. Instead he was stuck here with someone he had to reassure himself constantly was not his rival.   
  
‘I’m sure there will be plenty of time for that another time, but if James isn’t here I really should-’   
  
‘Oh, he’s on his way,’ Garfield protested before Robert could get up. ‘He made me swear to keep you here.’ He grinned. ‘You can imagine what sorts of schemes my mind came up with.’   
  
‘No, I can assure you I haven’t the faintest idea,’ Robert snapped.   
  
‘Forgive me,’ Garfield said, all sincerity. ‘I thought you and James were-’   
  
‘What exactly?’   
  
‘Well, open, free,’ Garfield said simply. ‘Among friends at least.’   
  
‘I think I know where we have gone wrong.’ Robert sighed. ‘We are not friends, Mr. Garfield, and frankly I’m astonished a man like Lord Elsingham would consider you one.’   
  
‘Of course he would,’ Garfield said, not at all offended. Robert was at his wit’s end. ‘You know Jim, he’d befriend a shark if it smiled at him.’ He punctuated that statement - deliberate or not - with a wide grin.   
  
Robert rose swiftly.   
  
‘I think I’ll be going.’   
  
‘No, please, don’t,’ Garfield, jumping up and suddenly losing his charm. This was sincerity, the real stuff, as his eyes became sad and a little desperate. ‘I play games and I never know when to stop,’ he sighed.    
  
‘What is it you want?’ Robert demanded.   
  
‘Want?’ Garfield looked genuinely confused for a moment, before he narrowed his eyes. ‘You think I’m in love with him.’ Robert couldn’t look him in the eye. Such statements were impossible to bear, but also to deny. ‘I’m not, I swear,’ he vowed. ‘I’m better than a lover, you see,’ he said slowly, moving away from the sofa towards the windows. He gazed out across the beautiful bay. ‘I’m a friend. A very good friend, Lord Grantham. I don’t want to see him get hurt.’   
  
‘Hurt?’   
  
Garfield turned to face him and Robert realised the man meant him!   
  
‘You think I would hurt him?’ he exclaimed.   
  
‘My plan was to try and seduce you,’ Garfield chuckled. ‘I’m a bit out of practice with men, I’m afraid.’ Robert tried not to blush at such speech. This man was intolerable, yet part of Robert wanted to hear more. ‘Jim loves you, so much it’s rather embarrassing.’ Garfield smiled fondly. ‘I’m just hoping you don’t intend to go home in a few weeks and continue on as Lord of the Manor.’   
  
‘What on earth else would I do? And how dare you presume to ask!’   
  
‘Because I love Jim, as a brother, mind you. Going back to Highgarden and playing the Lord isn’t in him. He’s young and passionate. The cane slows him down a bit, I grant you, but he makes up for it in stamina, and not like that!’ Garfield chuckled, but it was tinged with worry. Robert could only stand speechless. ‘He wants to see the world, but he doesn’t even know where to begin. I do. I want to take him to all the best places. Berlin, Vienna, Paris, Naples and so many more. Places where he can be himself, if you catch my meaning?’ Garfield raised an eyebrow at Robert.   
  
‘I... I believe I do.’ Robert tried to keep himself together, but his Britishness was showing painfully.   
  
‘They’re fine places, Lord Grantham. I’d wager even you’d find a decent time in one of them. And I don’t mean buying some pretty boy a drink either. I mean being there, with Jim, just... being.’   
  
‘I really must go now,’ Robert tried to move, but he couldn’t. Garfield must have sensed it, for he took a step forwards, his eyes wide and hypnotic.   
  
‘He deserves it,’ Garfield said. ‘But he’s too kind to be let loose on his own. I’ll go with him, for as long as my money holds up. He’d pay my way if I let him, but eventually I’m going to have to visit someone’s great-aunt Murial.’   
  
‘What... what, exactly, are you telling me and why?’   
  
‘It’s very simple, Lord Grantham. Go with him. Be with him. Everywhere. Always.’   
  
‘And how,’ Robert stuttered incredulously, ‘do you expect me to do that?’   
  
‘You have money don’t you? You’re a widower. Your daughters are old enough to take care of themselves.’   
  
‘I have obligations.’   
  
‘Yes of course, all those great British traditions that desperately need upholding,’ Garfield mocked. ‘Take him on a tour then. A short one. Then see how you feel.’   
  
‘And how would I explain to everyone where I’ve gone?’ Robert wasn’t exactly sure what he was saying, only that he wasn’t shouting “no” and storming out.   
  
‘There are a hundred thousand excuses for these kinds of situations,’ Garfield dismissed. Robert simply gaped, utterly flummoxed.   
  
They heard the door open and the butler hurrying to greet his master. Robert caught Garfield’s eye one last time, it was full of hope. ‘Stop being ashamed of that beautiful man,’ he hissed just as James appeared. He was clearly winded and leaning heavily on his cane.   
  
‘Lord Grantham! I hope Neil has been entertaining you. I’m so dreadfully sorry I’m late.’   
  
‘Not at all,’ Robert said automatically, his manners perfectly able to function independently of his inner turmoil.  
  
‘Well, now you’re here, I’ll be off!’ Garfield announced.   
  
‘Oh, you don’t have to,’ James said. ‘We could all take tea.’   
  
‘No, I really must go.’ They hugged goodbye and James smiled fondly as he left. As the butler showed the guest out James moved as quickly as he could towards Robert.   
  
‘I missed you,’ he whispered. Robert stared at him for a moment, a whirlwind of images battling it out in his mind. He leaned down gently, startling James with a soft kiss. Once begun, he found himself lingering. James placed his free hand on Robert’s cheek, moving his lips slightly, but not deepening the kiss.   
  
They pulled away when they heard the butler coming. James looked about as shocked as Robert felt.   
  
‘Shall I bring tea, My Lord?’   
  
‘Hmm? Oh, yes, that would be good. Tea, yes.’ Robert was smiling before he knew why, but of course, it was a selfish pleasure in taking James’ breath away with a kiss. He wanted to do that again. In fact, he wanted to do that in front of other people, so they could see that even though this perfect young man deserved someone as young and beautiful as himself, that what he wanted was him, of all people.   
  
‘I want us to go away together,’ Robert said, taking James’ free hand in his.   
  
‘I thought we were away, right now, and we’re together,’ James smiled.   
  
‘No, I mean just us, on a tour.’   
  
‘A grand tour?’   
  
‘Not quite... more like a secret tour.’   
  
‘What on earth do you mean?’   
  
Robert smiled. Vowing to get Garfield back here immediately so they could start planning. They would need his expertise.   
  
‘Just say you’ll come.’ James looked at him like he’d gone mad, but in a fond way.   
  
‘Of course I will. I’ve always wanted to travel, but how on earth are we going to manage it?’   
  
‘Let me worry about that,’ Robert whispered, leaning in for another kiss. ‘Let me worry about everything.’ He kissed James’ smile.   
  
XXX   
  
The clubs of Europe. Robert had never entertained the wildest dream that such places existed. He knew of course that there were places of ill repute everywhere, but this was... beyond that. This was a liberation of the self and of the senses.   
  
The greatest pleasure, however, came not from the pretty boys leaning close to each other or staring blatantly at them with interest, but from James’ rapt attention to it all. He blushed every time some young cherub passed his way, though he shied away from touch. Robert was glad of that. Perhaps he should be less selfish, but the overwhelming pride in being observers, not hunters, was intoxicating.   
  
Then there were the evenings. Their hotel rooms were connected by a door. Robert had gone to great lengths to find a hotel that offered every comfort yet did not contain guests Robert or James might be expected to know or dine with.   
  
So, after coffee shops and dark clubs or a show - some of which were completely innocent - Robert could step into James’ room like he would his own.   
  
The first time had taken his breath away. James had been standing by the doors to the balcony, Berlin laid out before him. The moon had been shining, like their first meeting, a world away now. Whirlwinds of silly poetry had danced through Robert’s mind, but he wasn’t a man to speak such flatteries.   
  
‘Let’s stay in bed till noon tomorrow,’ James suggested with a grin. ‘I want to be awake all night tomorrow. I want to watch the boys watch us. It tickles delightfully.’   
  
A whole week in Berlin, another two in Paris, always following the suggestion of their guide. He left them suddenly in Naples, when his funds ran out and he went off to fall in love with a dowager.   
  
Two months passed, but in the end, the letters caught up with him.   
  
One from Mary, asking how he was and how long he would be gone. None from Sybil - she was home in Dublin and probably too busy.   
  
Three from Edith. The first two were much like Mary’s, but the last one was not at all.   
  
_Dearest Father_  
  
 _I hope this letter finds you well. Everyone is in high spirits here. Mary and Matthew seem to finally be getting somewhere, but I am sure she has told you all about that in her own letter._  
  
 _I ran into Mr. Garfield recently in London. He was entertaining the Dowager Mayfair. He said he had left you both in good spirits in Naples. There was something in his voice that made all the pieces fit together - or rather, made me see what the puzzle was depicting. I’m not sure how to put this sort of thing into words. Us Crawley’s are not known for our frank ways._  
  
 _I do wish you would write back, or let me visit. I understand why you stay away, but not communicating at all is simply cruel._  
  
 _I hope Lord Elsingham is in good health. I wish you every happiness. Truly, I do._  
  
 _Your Loving Daughter,_  
 _Edith_  
  
 _PS: I haven’t said anything to anyone, but I think Thomas might know. He had a look about him when he heard who you were travelling with._  
  
‘What is it?’ James asked. He was sipping his coffee, the smell mingling with the morning sea breeze from the open balcony doors. Robert didn’t know what to do. He re-read it several times, then slowly handed it over. James’ eyes skipped through the contents, widening with surprise.  
  
‘Well, this is... good, isn’t it?’ he asked, searching Robert’s face for some reaction.   
  
‘I don’t know,’ Robert said, shaking his head.   
  
‘But we’re happy. They’re happy. Isn’t it all enough?’   
  
‘It won’t last. It can’t.’   
  
‘Nothing lasts, Robert,’ James said gently, like he was speaking to a fond child. Robert’s attention snapped to him, and he frowned. James smiled. ‘That’s why we should cherish everything all the more.’   
  
‘But it might end badly.’   
  
‘Then it ends badly. All the more reason not to dwell on the ending when we’re in the middle of the story.’   
  
‘The middle?’ Robert hadn’t thought that far ahead. He had snatched James away on Garfield’s insistence, convincing himself it was all for James.   
  
James sighed and slowly pushed his chair out, getting up and forcing Robert to do the same. He leaned on him instead of his cane, and they made their way outside. Their little town was far tucked away in Southern France, perfect for a little break from all the clubs and touristy things. James looked at Robert.   
  
‘Trust me, it’s the middle,’ he said, and Robert believed him. James seemed to have shed something - was it youth? - but it calmed Robert. He touched James’ chin, feeling the stubble he hadn’t gotten rid of yet. They should visit a barber in town today. Yes, that would be nice, and then a walk along the habour.   
  
‘As you say,’ Robert agreed.   
  
  



End file.
